


They Came Together

by amidtheflowers



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Challenge Response, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Romance, flirty fighty romance, unfunny innuendos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15488391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amidtheflowers/pseuds/amidtheflowers
Summary: What if Spike and Buffy met just a day before the events of School Hard? With Angel firmly out of the picture, Buffy flirts with other ideas...among other things.





	1. I Ran (Not So Far Away)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is fic #2 for me, and you have OffYourBird to entirely blame for this. We were talking and one thing led to the other until [](http://mariamaynot.tumblr.com/post/68664299647/from-dusted-the-unauthorized-guide-to-buffy-the)this post led us to a cracky, smutty fic idea. And voila! Here it is. I'm estimating this to be a total of 5 chapters, so the goods are very soon to come!
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely and effervescent Hinatas, who is my best friend and the best noodle to ever exist! I made some edits after she looked over my chapter so if you find anything, know that it's all me. (sweats) This chapter lays down all the groundwork for the romp in store next. Enjoy!
> 
>  Banner by my twin, OffYourBird!
> 
>   
> 

**Chapter 1:** I Ran (Not So Far Away)

AKA

Screwed Hard

**-:-**

“The pretty bird will be singing tonight, my sweet.” Drusilla’s faint, honeyed voice cut through the song on the radio that Spike had blasting in the car.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “That right, love?”

Drusilla nodded listlessly, her gaze wandering over the black-tinted window on the passenger side she was curled up on. “Her song is fluttery and small. Like little morsels of flesh and bone.” Her eyes flashed sharply at him. “You mustn’t interrupt the music or I shall be very cross.”

“Then I won’t.” Spike glanced furtively through the rearview mirror where Dru’s empty bird cage sat on the leather bench seat. “Just as soon as you get yourself a bird, baby. I’ll be sure to keep my distance.”

Drusilla hummed quietly to herself as he pulled into an abandoned factory and gathered her into his arms. She was startlingly light in his hold, and that meant something when it came to his Dru. He’d have to go get her some food, and soon.

“Now, you listen.” Spike peered directly into her eyes, and was relieved when she stared lucidly back. “I gotta go make nice with these poncey blighters and I don’t want you in there while I get us a safe place to stay. Stay outside, sweetheart.”

“They’re all foolish down there,” Drusilla said with a pout, tilting her head as if hearing something in the distance. “Like the men from the abbey.”

Spike rolled his eyes, groaning. “Great. Traditional lot, then.” He sighed before refocusing on Dru’s face. God, she was beautiful. Spike smiled gently. “I’ll come get you in a few minutes. Promise you’ll stay here.”

Dru smiled serenely, and he knew that was the best he was going to get. “Right, then. Stay put, love.”

She did not stay put.

But now she was laughing and so was Spike, and they’d already set themselves up in a lovely room that was only partially crumbling, with a four-poster bed and lace drapery. “You’ve been a naughty girl,” Spike curled his upper lip and Drusilla’s smile widened, her eyes turning predatory as he slowly circled around her. “You know what happens to naughty girls who disobey.”

“I think I’ve forgot,” Drusilla swayed backwards, one hand slowly snaking its way in her hair while the other held out towards him, and she crooked her finger. “Shall I ask someone from the hall to show me?”

Spike growled and pounced, reveling in her soft gasp as they tumbled backwards onto the mattress. He held himself aloft, hovering delicately over her body as his eyes drank her in. She was glorious and wild, his dark princess was, with her hooded eyes and soft pallor. She walked her fingers up his collar and yanked him forward until their lips were millimeters apart.

“You will be their Master,” Drusilla said harshly against his lips, and Spike’s eyes fluttered as he groaned. “And I will be yours.”

“Yes,” he breathed as their lips met, loving and cruel and passionate, and he thought to himself, _I love this fucking town already._

-:-

“I hate this fucking town,” Spike muttered under his breath as he strode down a deserted block. Six convenience stores he’d passed and all of them were closed, at barely even eight o’clock in the evening. Spike had awoken to an unignorable need for his smokes, only to find his pack already emptied during the drive to the hellmouth. With a departing kiss on Dru’s brow, he’d ventured out half an hour ago for a few packets of cigs—only to find half the bleeding town asleep.

“What kind of hellmouth is this?” Spike muttered. He paused at the end of the block, squinting at a store down the street. A convenience store, and the neon sign out front was still glowing: _OPEN._

“Finally.” Spike swept inside, leather duster billowing around his boots. The second he crossed the threshold, a shiver crawled up his spine and spread throughout his body.

A slayer was nearby.

Not only that, but inside this very convenience store. He couldn’t believe his fucking luck.

Spike took another step, darting his gaze around carefully. He detected three heartbeats; the cashier at the front register, a middle-aged man rifling through the magazine stand…and a blonde head bobbing along the freezer aisle, peering through the glass.

The crisps aisle blocked his view from her. God, he could feel adrenaline already flooding through him, his fingers itching for a good pummeling. Less than a day on the hellmouth and not only did he and Dru have new digs to stay in, but the universe just delivered the slayer—one he thought he’d have to stalk a bit to find—straight to him on a platter. Coming to the hellmouth had been a damn good decision after all.

He eyed the row of cigarette packs behind the cashier. Then, with a small jaunt in his step, Spike sauntered over to the freezer section.

The slayer slowly came into view—first the hair, then the side of her face, then the pale blue camisole and white shorts she had on, followed by an even more delectable stretch of honey-glow legs. His fangs itched, his demon clawing desperately to come out and play.

Bloody hell, she was gorgeous.

It took all his strength to give her only the briefest of glances before concentrating on the freezer door before him. Stacks of T.V. dinners and frozen peas stared back at him, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He had half a mind to eat whichever American decided this frozen shite could be considered food.

The heartbeat five feet away from him stuttered. Thank god. He hoped it wouldn’t take long for her to realize what he was. He saw her approach through the corner of his eye, slowly, cautiously. His fingers curled into loose fists, ready for the dance of his _unlife_ —

A throat cleared, and Spike turned in surprise.

The slayer was beaming up at him, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet.

“You know, they say if you eat enough of a certain color food you’ll turn that color. I’d nix the frozen peas.”

**-:-**

When her mother suggested they have a movie marathon kind of night, she had tried every trick she knew—‘sorry Mom, I’m just not up to it’, ‘I should probably catch up on studying’, ‘maybe next time’. Usually her halfhearted answers worked on Joyce Summers, who was still treading on eggshells around her since the divorce, but for the first time in months she put her foot down.

“Now Buffy. I may not know all the details of your life, but I know a breakup when I see one. Am I wrong?”

“Um…” Damn! And here she thought she’d been super sneaky-girl. Relieved that Joyce wasn’t asking details about it, Buffy admitted, “Technically, there has to be something there to break up for it to be a breakup. But…maybe? Sort of.”

More like definitely. After defeating the Master and her summer in L.A. with her dad, Buffy decided to firmly hop on the no-more-Angel bus. Simple as that. Mister broody, can’t-give-you-CPR-even-though-I-need-breath-to-talk, mysteriously disappearing into the night, _sort of_ pretend boyfriend she sucked face with a few times, just wasn’t worth the trouble. There was a spark between them, undoubtedly. Buffy still thought about him from time to time. But they’d both agreed that it was best they went their separate ways, and only interacted if there was a particularly nasty baddie that needed to be dealt with.

So far, so good.

“Come on, honey. What do you say? You, me, Anthony Michael Hall, and a cheesy resurrection of a fantasy computer superwoman,” Joyce wiggled the video cassette at Buffy temptingly.

Buffy rolled her eyes and grinned. “Alright, deal. But only if we do _Sixteen Candles_ next!”

“Deal,” Joyce agreed swiftly. “Oh honey—do we still have ice cream in the freezer?”

That was how Buffy ended up here, in the world’s tiniest convenience store—which wasn’t all that convenient, considering it was a good few blocks from her house and she’d have to book it back home if she didn’t want the ice cream to get all melty.

Her staring contest between chunky chocolate chip and strawberry shortcake was cut short when a swirl of black leather came into view next to her. Natural, bored curiosity made her glance at it. Her heart promptly skipped an excited beat.

_Oh my god. Oh my GOD. Major hottie, major hottie—eep! And he looked at me!_

Buffy forced herself to calm down and focused on the freezer again. Who needed ice cream anyway? Buffy sure didn’t know why she did anymore. Ice cream? Never heard of her.

She snuck another surreptitious glance at mister leather in September. He was determinedly eyeing a row of dinner packs and…peas? She held in a laugh. God, what a visual that was: a punk with a packet of peas. Buffy licked her lips, thinking fast. This was what Willow and Xander were encouraging her about, right? Even her mom? She needed to move on, and—and she decided this was the guy to do it with.

Right. She made up her mind. She was doing this! Look out, men! Buffy the Brave was coming out!

Now all she needed was the nerves to go over and say something.

Swallowing nervously, Buffy took three steps and peered up at him. Oh boy, he was just the right height too. A little lean in on her toes and he was in kissing length. His hair was pure bleach blond and slightly curling against the gel —not something she normally went for, but damn if he didn’t look good—and his cheekbones were sharp enough to cut.

Buffy cleared her throat. The stranger looked down at her in surprise, and Buffy’s breath nearly caught. Ocean blue eyes… _be still my heart_.

With a sunny smile, Buffy said, “You know, they say if you eat enough of a certain color food you’ll turn that color. I’d nix the frozen peas.”

He stared at her, jaw dropping slightly.

Buffy wanted to crawl away in a hole. _What kind of pick-up line is that?!_ Inner Buffy shrieked. _Damage control, do damage control!_ Fumbling a little, Buffy stammered on, “Y-you know, because you’d turn green. And I don’t think that would go well with black.” She glanced up at his hair. “Or blond.”

Inner Buffy sighed and walked away. Girly Buffy started tugging on a shirt that read _Forever Doomed a Virgin._ Current Buffy, with heat pooling her cheeks, continued to smile winningly up at the man in the duster.

To her utmost surprise—shock?—nauseating glee?—the guy started to smile back. It was slow, curling, and just enough to send little tingly thrills down Buffy’s neck.

“Is that true, love?” he asked her, his voice rolling slowly over her like silk. She shivered. Cute guy with an English accent. Inner Buffy peeked back into the conversation, daring to hope.

“Yep. My cousin ate nothing but carrots for a week and she turned orange. Not like, _orange_ orange, but enough to notice it.”

He seemed endlessly amused by this and turned to face her, leaning against the freezer door and pressing his tongue against his teeth. “My condolences to your cousin.”

Buffy waved her hand distractedly. “She’s alright now. I wouldn’t worry about her.”

“Mm. There a name that goes with that sound advice?”

He was flirting back. Buffy’s smile widened, tilting her head as she clasped her hands behind her back. “Buffy.”

His eyebrows hiked up. “Interestin’ name. Don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

Buffy leaned in, her voice low and sure. “Good. That means you’ll remember me.”

**-:-**

Spike was stunned to silence, well and truly. The chit was flirting. With _him_. Did she really not know what he was?

He took her in, eyes raking over her slowly. She was young—probably only recently called. Was that it, then? New to the slayer call, her senses still soft and new, that she couldn’t detect the vampire standing right in front of her?

Spike found he didn’t mind much. The electricity that had been charging his body for a fight against a slayer was rapidly transforming into something else. Something more…sensual.

“Oh pet,” Spike drawled, inwardly pleased when her pupils dilated, “the last thing you are is forgettable.”

She ducked her eyes shyly, smiling a little. Ooh, that was lovely. He liked that. He wondered if he could make her do that again. Preferably before he drained her dry.

Spike paused at that thought. Five minutes ago that had been all he could think about. But now? He looked at Buffy and pictured her limp corpse in his arms. The image didn’t…sit right with him. His gaze wandered down her perfectly soft neck. Now, the thought of sinking his fangs _there_ …yeah, he still liked that. A good bite, not the shit fledges tended to do, or vamps who wanted it to hurt. No, he’d make it good. He’d soften her up, sip a few kisses from her lips and key her body up until she couldn’t take it anymore, and then he could easily sink his teeth in her supple flesh—

“This is the part where I ask you your name,” Buffy’s voice interrupted Spike’s quickly deteriorating thoughts. She was smiling up at him, a hint of shyness still there. “You know, as normal conversations go.”

He smirked, pushing off of the freezer door. “Name’s Spike.”

“Spike,” she repeated, then again under her breath, as if trying to burn it in her memory.

They drifted off for a moment, with Buffy opening a freezer door and fishing out a tub of chunky chocolate chip ice cream, and Spike, in a moment’s decision, grabbing a four-pack. He could see the mental calculation going in her eyes: old enough to drink, not too old to not have fun with. If only she knew.

She eyed him diffidently as they walked to the cashier. His initial plan had been to nick the cigs and booze, but he didn’t mind paying with the change of circumstance. Not when the slayer kept shooting him looks when she thought he wasn’t looking.

An unspoken agreement hung between them that he’d wait for her to checkout before walking out the store together. They both were quiet for a few moments. Buffy, thinking of what to say; Spike, wondering if he should go ahead and try offing her anyway, if only to avoid the whole Saint Vigeous bullshit altogether.

“Those’ll kill you, you know.” Buffy nodded at the pack of Marlboros he had in his left hand.

Spike smirked, noting the irony. “Don’t I know it, love. But it just makes me look so damn good.”

Her eyes wandered over him, spurred on by his words, and Spike had to convince himself not to shove her against the nearest brick wall and—no. The hell was he thinking?

“That’s exactly the type of dumb reason they tell us about in school.” She crossed her arms, unimpressed.

“Sorry, cutie. This is one habit I won’t be kicking any time soon.”

“That’s what you think.”

“Think you can convince me otherwise?”

“I do. Maybe…maybe tomorrow night at the Bronze.” Her heart was thundering in her chest, betraying the unaffected look she was giving him. It sounded delicious to his ears, and Spike couldn’t help but draw closer to her.

“Sorry, love. Don’t know where that is.”

“Oh, it’s just a few blocks down from here! Walking distance,” Buffy grinned up at him. Curse his unbeating heart, but the slayer looked good wearing a smile. “Everyone goes to the Bronze. It’s like...dance-y, and there’s live bands, and pretty decent food.”

“Yeah?” He lifted a brow, smiling.

“Mm-hmm. And there’s no age restriction either on who can go in—not that that’s something you need to worry about,” Buffy muttered the last bit under her breath in a rush.

“Sounds exciting, pet.”

“So you’ll be there? Tomorrow, maybe?” Another hopeful look, another pounding of her heartbeat. He was drawn to it in pure instinct, wanting nothing more than to press his ear against the beating drum in her chest.

“I might show,” Spike started walking backwards, lips curling in a leer. “If there’s something worth seeing there.”

He left Buffy on the corner of the block, neck intact and blood still pumping away in her body. At first, it made him smile. Spared a slayer from the Big Bad Spike. If she only knew who she’d been coming on to…

As he crossed the street, Spike’s eyes widened a little. He’d left the slayer alive. The Slayer of Slayers had left _the_ slayer, Buffy, alive. He shouldn’t have. Oh bollocks. He really shouldn’t have. The further he got away from her, the more he was kicking himself. Why the bloody _fuck_ hadn’t he killed her, let alone try to _fight_ her? What the hell was wrong with him?

When he reached the abandoned factory, dread had taken full control of his undead body. Just what the fuck had he been playing at back there? Flirting with the slayer? There was no flirting with slayers, not him! Not like some perverted, poncey poof, not like—bloody fuck, not like this!

And Dru. Spike entered their room and found her still sound asleep on their bed. He’d forgotten her entirely in the ten minutes he’d been chatting up the little slayer. A hundred years of devotion and undying love and he’d forgotten Drusilla at the first sight of the blonde tart.

This wasn’t him. He’d never forget his sire, his true love. It—it was the slayer. It had to be the slayer. She’d done something to him.

She would pay. Oh, she’d pay with her life. Tomorrow, she said? Tomorrow it would be. He’d find her in that club, drag the chit outside, and watch the life die out from the loveliest shade of green eyes he’d ever seen.

Spike grimaced. No, not lovely. Definitely not lovely. Horrible, disgusting, filthy sodding girl; lovely, lovely girl—

He sighed and curled himself around Drusilla’s sleeping form, burying his face in her neck and inhaling deeply. He’d kill the slayer, like he promised. He’d kill her for his princess and everything would be right again.

**-:-**

“La vache...doit me...touche...de la...jeudi.” Buffy looked at Willow nervously. “Was it wrong? Should I use the plural?”

“No. But you said, ‘The cow should touch me from Thursday’.” Willow gave a pained look.

“Maybe that’s what I was feeling,” Buffy lifted her chin up with false confidence.

“And you said it wrong.”

Buffy deflated. “Je stink.”

Willow smiled empathetically. “You’re just not focused. Is it…still Angel missage?”

Buffy snorted a laugh. “Not even close. Angel and I are beyond done. It’s just…” Buffy’s gaze darted around the Bronze, peering through the crowd in hopes of spotting a bleached blond head. No such luck. “I sort of…met someone last night.”

Willow’s eyes widened comically. “A cute someone? A flirty someone that’s been distracting you during our French studyage?”

“Maybe.”

Willow’s jaw dropped. “How do I not know about this!”

“I don’t know!” Buffy blushed and ducked her head, shrugging. “I guess I didn’t wanna jinx it. Things tend to go bad when I actually want something and I say it out loud.”

“But—but there’s a ‘someone’ now? And you met him last night? How—where?”

“At the convenience store.” Buffy smiled a little shyly. “We talked a bit. It was cool.”

Willow quirked a brow with knowing smile. “Just ‘cool’, huh?”

Buffy’s smile grew wider. “Alright, it was amazing. And he’s so cute, Wills. Like cut from stone kinda cute, and he flirted back. I kinda asked him to come to the Bronze tonight…but so far he’s a no-show.”

“He’ll show,” Willow said firmly. “Girl like you? Men will be falling at your feet.”

“Oh yeah, they’ll fall—into a million dusty pieces, usually.”

Xander chose that time to come back to their table, panting and with a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. “C’mon guys, someone dance with me. I’m all alone out there.”

“We’re studying,” Willow said primly.

“Among other things,” Buffy added.

“You’ve been studying for a full twelve minutes. I’d say that warrants a break, right?”

“Huh. No wonder my brain is fried,” Buffy wondered aloud. “C’mon, Willow.” Grabbing the redhead by the shoulder, she coaxed Willow from her seat and the trio ran to the center of the dance floor. A new band was playing tonight, a soft rock song that Buffy could easily fall into and start dancing.

Just as the song went into a chorus, she saw him. Bright, bleached hair, sauntering along the edges of the dance floor. Prowling.

Their eyes connected.

Buffy’s lips curled into a smile and she raised her arms and linked her fingers around her wrist, swaying to the music. She watched with satisfaction when Spike’s eyes flickered over her body, his jaw going slack.

“Be right back,” Buffy shouted to her friends over the music, and started making her way over to him. She didn’t miss the smirk that flashed across his face as he walked towards her, meeting her halfway.

“You came,” Buffy’s voice came out breathlessly.

“What can I say, love? Found myself a reason to.” Spike’s tone was pitched low, but audible even with the band blaring loudly behind them. A dangerous thread was layered in his words, something she couldn’t quite decipher, and it made Buffy shiver.

“Dance with me,” she said, and curled her fingers around his wrist. He looked surprised when she touched him but didn’t resist when she tugged him to the dance floor.

He held himself stiffly at first, eyeing her swaying body with equal parts trepidation and desire. Buffy smiled slyly and chose to act on the part of her that was starting to get bolder the more she was around him. Grabbing his hands, she pulled him close to her body and placed them on either side of her hips. Slowly sliding her hands up his arms, she guided him to move with her.

Buffy tilted her head up at him. “What’s the matter? Afraid to dance with me?”

Spike’s eyes darkened. His grip tightened on her hips and he yanked her against him, turning their little dance into something far less innocent. “Never.”

Buffy smiled at the challenge in his eyes, and she amped up their little game, twisting her hips to grind lightly against him.

Spike inhaled sharply. He saw the mischievous glint in her eyes and smirked, letting his gaze trail down. He let their bodies grind together a few beats before subtly moving his knee between her thighs.

Buffy’s breath stuttered and she stared up at Spike. His blue eyes were impossibly dark, blown wide by his dilated pupils. One look and suddenly knew this game was larger than she’d expected; that this was someone who knew what he was doing, and knew she was playing with a fire she’d only recently learned to light.

He was watching her, waiting to see what she’d do. If she’d pull away. Buffy exhaled a little unsteadily before linking her arms around his neck and drawing their chests closer.

“Just so you know,” Buffy started conversationally, “I don’t usually do the ugly bump and grind with strangers I only just met.”

Spike cocked his head, flashing a lascivious grin. “Yeah?”

“Yup.”

“Guess that makes me special.”

“It’ll make you _extra_ special if you take me out on Friday.”

Spike gave an odd little smile, a real one that cut through the thick fog of lust they’d been submerged in. He slowed their movements and pressed his forehead against hers. “You’re a real cutie, you know.”

Buffy flushed inwardly, licking her lips. “Thanks. You’re stupid hot.”

Spike barked out a laugh even as Buffy ducked her head in embarrassment. She cleared her throat. “Um, yeah. My brain-to-mouth filter kinda sucks. You’ll get used to it.”

“You won’t hear me complaining.” When she still didn’t meet her eyes, he nudged her gently with his forehead. “’S nice. Appreciate it, pet.”

The look she gave Spike paralyzed him. He heard her breath catch, watched her eyes become half-lidded as she focused on him. The pull to her was magnetic, his body screaming to get closer, drag her in, let himself fall…

His eyes snapped open. Her face was upturned to his, eyes closed and leaning in.

Spike dropped his hold on her and abruptly pushed away. Buffy staggered back a step, eyes flying open in surprise. Without another word, Spike backed away from her and whirled out of the club.

**-:-**

“Buffy?”

Someone was shaking her shoulder. Buffy’s eyes followed the retreating back of Spike, swinging his arms in agitation which only moments ago had been pleasantly wrapped around her.

Buffy finally turned to the voice. Willow looked at her with trepidation. “What happened?” she asked worriedly.

Buffy pressed her mouth in a grim line. “I’ll be right back.”

“Buffy—”

She brushed past Willow and Xander’s gaping expression and ran to the back exit.

She found him out there, breathing hard with his palm flat against the brick wall of the Bronze. His face was hidden in shadow.

“Hey,” she said softly.

Spike’s whole body tensed. He pushed away from the wall and faced away from her. “Can’t you let me sod off in peace?” he hissed angrily.

Buffy hesitated, the hope that had been steadily building in her chest now shrinking back. “Did…did I do something wrong?” When he didn’t respond, Buffy took a small step closer. “I know it was pretty intense in there…y-you don’t have to take me out or anything, I was just being typical Buffy, all jumpy with the conclusions—”

“You know what went wrong, Slayer?” Buffy startled as Spike whirled around, his face now wearing a demon mask and snarling at her. “I really should have offed you last night.”

“No.” Buffy’s heart raced, panic overcoming her. “N—no, this…you’re a…”

“Vampire, love. Nice work figuring that one out, by the way,” said Spike, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

Buffy clenched her jaw and curled her hands into fists. “What do you want?”

Spike breathed hard, his fingers twitching as if restraining from launching himself at her. “You’ll find out on Saturday.”

“What happens on Saturday?”

Spike’s demon face melted away, and the look of pure loathing he sent her made her shiver. “I kill you.”

He turned away to leave, and anger rose inside her. “Why wait ’til Saturday? Why not now?”

Spike turned his head to look at her, a dark look clouding over his face. Buffy stepped up to him boldly. “Looks like you could’ve killed me yesterday. It would’ve been easy, too. So why didn’t you?” She shrugged carelessly, waving her arm behind her at the Bronze. “Or back there when we were dancing?”

He was breathing hard and so was she. Spike’s jaw ticked and he backed away again, fading into the shadows. “Saturday, Slayer.”

Fury raced through her blood and shook her bones. Buffy was left standing alone outside the Bronze for several minutes. Quietly, with her hand trembling, Buffy slipped back inside the Bronze.

**-:-**

“So he really went all ‘grr, argh’ on you?” Willow asked anxiously as Buffy poured lemonade into more plastic cups. The Parent-Teacher Night was going well so far—Giles, Xander, and Cordelia were preparing for the night of Saint Vigeous, her mother had yet to show (and hopefully it stayed that way), and Principal Snyder had yet to find a reason to deem her expellable.

“He did. I can’t wait to punch him in his stupid mouth and his stupid cheekbones,” Buffy muttered, her lower lip making a small pout. “I mean, who is he to do that? He totally broke the vamp-slayer code. Vamp bad. Slayer kill vamp. Vamp _doesn’t_ do the flirty-flirty and almost kiss slayer! It’s just not in the code of conduct. Or the Geneva Convention.”

“I know. It’s much with the suckage,” Willow gave a sympathetic look. “But you heard Giles—we can’t take Spike lightly. He’s done some serious killing, Buffy. He’s killed two slayers.”

“I know.” Buffy looked away.

“He’s probably been trying to kill you the whole time.”

“I know.”

Willow eyed her shrewdly, but not unkindly. “But you still have lusty feelings for him.”

Buffy almost denied it. She looked guiltily at Willow. “That makes me a bad person, doesn’t it?”

“No, not bad!” Willow quickly reassured, wrinkling her nose when she took a sip of the lemonade. “Not of the bad. Just…confusing. Especially with how confusing Angel had been; I can’t imagine what this must be like for you.”

Buffy shook her head. “I couldn’t even tell he was a vampire, Wills. I’m nowhere close to being at my slayer best. He—he played me like the blob of putty I was. I thought the fluttery-tingly feeling I got when I was around him was me falling for someone. And the scary thing is…I wanted him.” Buffy gave a wide-eyed, disbelieving look. “Even after he left. He was fun and hot and _different_. And smirky. Did I mention his stupid cheekbones?”

“Think you did,” Willow said wryly.

“I hate them,” Buffy groused. “Stupid cheekbones.”

Willow nodded, both of them quiet for a moment. “Still, when it comes to Saturday…you know what to do, right?”

“Absolutely. He’s nothing but a big pile of dust to me now. Promise.”

**-:-**

“Anyone ever tell you you’re impatient? You could’ve had me down like, _ten_ moves ago. Or wait—two nights ago at the convenience store. Or wait—”

“Shut your gob,” Spike snarled, dodging a right hook from the Slayer. “Just because I didn’t want to wait for Saturday doesn’t mean shit. And look: I brought friends to mingle with your friends. You ought to thank me.”

Buffy paused, inwardly cringing at the sounds of distant vampiric growls echoing around the school. She couldn’t focus on that, though. To defeat the others she had to get rid of Spike first.

Buffy blocked his next three moves before grabbing him by the collar. “Your friends suck.” She threw him across the hall, sending him crashing against a classroom door.” Before he could get his bearings Buffy marched up to him and slammed his arms against the door, trapping him with her body. “You shouldn’t have come, Spike.”

“My, my.” Spike licked his lips, his tongue tracing against an elongated fang. “Now this feels familiar.” He arched his hips a little and Buffy held back a little gasp, feeling him start to harden against her. “Care to remind me the rest, Slayer?”

“If it’s sharp and wooden, then yes, I’ll be happy too remind you,” Buffy smiled sweetly.

“Dunno about sharp, love, but wooden?” His eyes raked slowly over her. “How did it go at the club, again? Pressed up together, all familiar-like...” Spike tilted his head, yellow irises reflecting with sneering malice. _This_ was what she’d expected of him, the vampire—snarls and threats and pure pleasure at the prospect of violence. “All that blood pump-pump-pumping away in your pretty little neck…in naughty places good girls don’t speak about.”

Buffy’s expression hardened. “You’re a _pig_.”

“Yeah, and you wanted me,” Spike chuckled gleefully. Buffy’s grip on his arms tightened painfully. “An itch I can scratch for you before I kill you, baby? Because I _will_ kill you. As a personal favor from me to you, I promise it’ll be quick. Won’t hurt a bit.”

Buffy’s mouth drew into a thin line. “No, Spike. It’s gonna hurt a lot.”

She threw him hard against the door again and it flew wide open, sending them stumbling inside. She hit fast, punch after punch that sent him staggering into a chair and smashing it to pieces. She reached for a broken wooden leg but a hard blow to her wrist had her cry out in pain. Spike smirked down at her.

“Thought it’d be that easy, did you?” Spike kicked her hard and Buffy fell back against the floor. “’M not some sodding minion, pet.” Another kick to her ribs and Buffy gasped in pain, curling into herself. Spike kneeled down, leaning over her. “I’m the Big Bad.”

Buffy grimaced when he grabbed her hair and yanked her head to the side, baring her throat to him. A flicker of hesitation made Spike pause, a strange look coming over his yellowed eyes. The hard grip on her hair relaxed a fraction, and he considered her hair between his thumb and fingers, frowning.

“You’re forgetting something.” Buffy inhaled an unsteady breath, eyeing the sharp fangs in his mouth.

Spike’s eyes darkened, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her mouth. “What’s that, Slayer?”

Buffy tipped her head and crashed it against Spike’s, and he let go of her with a shout of agony. She cocked her head with a wry smile. “I kill Big Bads.”

Spike clutched his head and growled, “You bloody bint. I _hate_ you.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” Buffy panted as they grappled against each other, both trying to get the upper hand.

“You know, I was doing great before I met you.” Spike managed to get her in a chokehold, half-sprawled across her back. “Had Dru on my arm, got a new home, found a decent demon bar—”

“Ooh, a domesticated Big Bad? Please, _do_ tell me more,” Buffy rolled her eyes as she freed herself from his grip and pinned him against the floor, arms and legs holding him down. His back arched futilely as he tried breaking free. Spike growled in frustration.

“You’re just sour because you liked me before finding out what I was,” Spike said challengingly.

Buffy spluttered incredulously. “You flirted with me!”

“Oi now, _you_ started it!”

“I absolutely did not!”

“‘I’d nix the frozen peas, they’ll make you all green’,” Spike affected a high-pitched, girly voice. He gave her a pointed look. “Bleeding terrible come on, even for a slayer.”

“I was just trying to be helpful!” Buffy said indignantly, a blush touching her cheeks. “And I do not sound like that.”

“Face it, Slayer, you’ve got your knickers in a twist because you can’t handle the fact that you got all tingly for me.”

Buffy pressed him harder against the classroom floor, their noses nearly brushing against each other. “That’s where you’re wrong, Spike. I could never feel anything for you.”

“Liar. Think I don’t know how hot you are right now?” Buffy squirmed a little at his knowing stare. “How fightin’ me’s gotten all you worked up? Know because I feel it too, Slayer,” Spike smiled widely, his tongue touching the back of his teeth. “I always know.”

Buffy’s gaze turned hard. “You know what, Spike? I might not have known that you were a vampire when we met, but you knew what I was. You knew and you wanted _me_. You think _I’m_ sour?” Spike shifted uncomfortably beneath her, no longer meeting her eyes. “You’re the one who left the Bronze all pissy with the bumpies,” Buffy glanced up at his brow, and almost immediately Spike slid back to his human face. “So the real question is: what’s your excuse?”

Spike stared up at her, thoroughly unwillingly. “I really hate you.”

Buffy stared right back, her mouth twitching. “I hate you, too.”

A long moment passed.

She didn’t know who moved first—all she knew was her hands had gone from holding him down to clutching his shoulders as his arms snaked around her, their lips pressed together in a hard, passionate kiss.

Spike rolled them over so he was on top and her legs parted for him automatically. His lips were soft and cool against hers, and Buffy let out a soft moan when he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. Her hands slid up his shoulders to brush the soft curls at the back of his neck. He made a soft sound and traced her jaw with his fingertips before urging her mouth to open wider against his, and she felt the first tentative brush of his tongue.

Warmth shot through her in an electric wave, raising the hairs on her arms and melting her further into Spike’s body. _Holy shit,_ Buffy thought faintly, as Spike lazily rolled his tongue against hers. Kissing had never been like this. This was _incredible_. Why had kissing never been like this before? She felt all warm and goosebumpy and so, so incredibly wanted. And so in need of air.

Buffy pulled away with a moan and Spike panted against her, their foreheads pressed together and their eyes closed. He gave her only a few seconds before swooping back in, kissing her with renewed frenzy and want, and Buffy surged against him desperately.

“We shouldn’t,” Buffy gasped against his mouth.

“No, we shouldn’t,” he agreed, his lips gliding over hers in a way that had her toes curling. “Still want to.”

“So want to,” Buffy said helplessly, letting out a tiny whimper when she pushed her hips against his and a thrill of pleasure shot through her. Spike groaned and ground against her, planting kisses down her jaw to her neck.

A loud crash echoed outside in the hall, jerking them apart. They looked at each other, panting.

Reality reestablished its cold grip. Buffy swallowed hard and stared at him; Spike gazed down at her with wide, uncertain eyes. They remained frozen in place until Buffy realized her legs were wrapped around his hips. Slowly, she disentangled herself from his body, and Spike rolled off of her.

They regarded each other for a long, unsure moment.

“Later,” said Buffy, finally.

Spike nodded, his throat bobbing convulsively. “Later.”

Spike jumped through the classroom windows, sending glass shattering along the floor. Buffy walked to the door, closing it quietly behind her, and went in search for her mother.

**-:-**

Spike slowly entered their bedroom, finding Drusilla awake and brushing her hair at the vanity. He swallowed hard, overcome with nerves that left his hands trembling slightly. Drawing closer, Spike licked his lips and struggled to find the words he wanted to say.

“You have been a very bad doggy.”

Spike closed his eyes. Lowering his head, he replied, “Dru…”

“Come brush my hair.” Drusilla held out a delicatel silver hairbrush. Spike swallowed hard and grasped her hand gently, closing his fingers around hers.

“I am a bad man, Dru.” A shudder went through him. “I love you— _only_ you. You know that right, princess?”

Drusilla gave him a strange smile. She nudged the brush at him again, and Spike sighed and took it from her. With slow, sweeping strokes, Spike carefully brushed Drusilla’s midnight black hair. With each sweep down he found new words to call himself. Vile. Garbage. Knobhead. He was worthless and unworthy of Drusilla, and the full weight of what he’d done was crippling his undead insides. He and Dru were eternal. _Eternal_. And he stomped on that with his sodding mouth fused to another woman’s—a slayer’s, for god’s sake. He wondered when Dru would decide to set him on fire—he hoped she killed him slowly. He deserved it.

Then, Drusilla did something she had not done in a very long time: she lifted her head and began to tell a story.

“A hundred and twenty years ago when we met in an alley in London, a vision came to me when your shoulder brushed mine as you passed by.”

Spike glanced down at Drusilla in shock. She was carefully arranging her doll, unwrapping the black blindfold from Miss Edith’s eyes. He wanted to speak but didn’t dare break the spell. A Drusilla that was this coherent didn’t happen without reason. He wanted to hear this.

“The stars whispered to me that you are meant to live a long, long life. I saw who you were to be, my Spike.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “You were beautiful, and you were to be loved. But not by me.”

Drusilla turned on the stool to face him. Spike let the hand holding the brush drop down by his side, tilting his head at her curiously.

 “I drank from you and saw what the stars tried telling me. I fed you my blood and saw sunshine around you. Always, always there. It fades a little over time, nearly blown out—but I can see it clearly now.” Her fingers fluttered in the direction of his head. “Floating all around you, just as the day you died. You are meant for sunshine.”

Spike shook his head and knelt before her, taking her hand and stroking her knuckles softly with his thumb. “I can’t be in the sunlight, sweetheart,” he said patiently. “Sunshine will kill me.”

His lips parted in surprise at the depth of sadness that bloomed in Drusilla’s gaze. “Yes, it will.”

He shook his head again and squeezed Drusilla’s hand. “I love you, Dru. Only you; it’s always been you. Hundred years, you and I have been together. I could never let that go.”

“Sweet William,” Drusilla whispered softly, and gently stroked his cheek. “You were never mine. I knew since the day I sired you.”

Spike inhaled sharply. “ _No_.”

“Was only keeping you safe and loved, as long as I could manage. Couldn’t, always…” Her gaze drifted away from him, a small, childlike pout forming on her lips.

He knew what he was thinking and he immediately put a stop to it. “Wasn’t your fault,” Spike said firmly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know you can’t…I know you, Dru. You do your best; always have. Can’t expect more than that.” He wouldn’t say how seeing her with other men throughout the decades cut him sharper than any stake. How seeing her with Angelus always destroyed him. He loved her despite all that, and she knew it.

“You will have more than that,” Drusilla snapped, meeting his gaze with perfect clarity. “She floats all around you. It is fixed now.” She tilted her head thoughtfully, listening. “As will I, so do not worry. I am not so very cross.”

“R-really?”

Dru smiled in that way he always liked, as is if she were a cat that ate the canary. “No. What’s more…Daddy is returning soon.”

Cold ice swept through him.

“Is he now?” Spike clenched his teeth.

“Oh, yes. Our work here is nearly done, my darling Spike. Princess will be cured, and Daddy will come to play again. Do not fret.”

She turned to face the vanity again, fluffing out her hair. That was the end of that. No more would come from her, and he didn’t plan on pressing for more. Spike gripped the brush tightly and began brushing out her hair again, his body almost shaking from the turmoil that coursed through him.

“Will you still love me?” His voice was weak, breaking slightly.

Drusilla turned to look at him, smiling genuinely. “Always, my love. That will never change.” Looking away again, Dru picked up the doll and began retying the blindfold. “You’ve been a bad dolly again, haven’t you, Miss Edith? A very bad dolly...go sit in the chair for all your shame.”


	2. I Would Do Anything For Love (Especially That)

**Chapter 2:** I Would Do Anything For Love (Especially That)

AKA: We Probably Shouldn’t Have

**-:-**

Spike stared up at the window facing the right of the house, a cigarette dangling between lips as he took in a slow drag. He’d been standing here long enough for a small army of cigarette butts to lay littered by his feet. He leaned heavily against the tree at Revello Drive and gazed at the window, lost in thought.

Destiny. That was the picture Drusilla had painted for him when he’d come home from his first failed attempt to kill the slayer. Meant for someone else, she’d said. Destined to play in the sodding sunshine, she’d said. Done were the days of standing with his dark princess for the rest of eternity. He wouldn’t lie, it explained a damned well lot on why he felt an instinctive pull towards this slayer. Didn’t mean that Dru’s casual and blunt breakup didn’t hurt like fucking hell.

A hundred and twenty years. Over a century of devotion and undying—Spike snorted—love, and where did that get him? Standing in front of the ruddy slayer’s home, contemplating his goddamn existence in the universe. What all of this even meant.

Well he knew one thing. There wasn’t a thing in the cosmos that could force him to love someone against his will. And he loved Dru. No exceptions, no returns, have a good bloody day. Whatever he was… _feeling_ , for the slayer, was inconsequential. A byproduct of lust, that was all. Chit was hot and a fighter, and frankly Spike hadn’t gotten any since Prague. Not that he minded, obviously, with Dru ill, but. Well. His prick couldn’t be blamed for physically reacting here and there around pretty things. Was its only job, after all.

 _Doesn’t change how you feel about her, mate_. Spike mentally flipped the bird to his conscience.

Even with this resolve, it wouldn’t change Drusilla’s mind. Oh she still loved him, sure—as much as a girl loves her favorite sodding puppy. Any attempts Spike had made in changing her mind or proving he still loved her resulted in pitying looks from his sire and a burning headache in his head. And that would make him furious, and he’d stomp off into the night and find himself in front of the same residential house.

Spike could feel the slayer inside there. Her heartbeat was steady, calm, and completely unaware of his presence outside her home. Fucking terrible. He’d have to get her to hone her instincts—would be no good for his slayer to be this vulnerable. Spike closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, searching past the cloud of smoke, and caught the faint scent of vanilla coming from Buffy’s bedroom window. Something warm bloomed inside him.

Spike opened his eyes and scowled down at his chest. “Oi. None of that. Let a man mourn his last relationship in peace before jumping to the next bird.”

The weightless sensation behind his ribs stubbornly stayed. Rolling his eyes, Spike threw down his last cigarette and strode off to the opposite end of town.

**-:-**

When Buffy fell into a large pumpkin gourd that then splattered all down her back, she knew immediately the night would not end as well as she’d hoped.

Groaning, Buffy lifted herself from the squashed pieces of pumpkin and guts and jumped to her feet. The vamp was persistent, if not somewhat amused at her stumbling, but it took a simple wooden post to the chest for him to end in a million dusty pieces. Satisfied, she shoved the sign post back into the ground and dusted herself off.

Buffy twisted around to take a peek at her back. She sighed; just as she’d thought. The jacket was a total loss. Unless she wanted to go to the Bronze and impress everyone with a pumpkin seed mural down her back, it would have to go. She didn’t want Spike to see—

She halted the thought before it could finish. Nope. Not going there. Buffy lifted her head and walked towards the Bronze, never noticing a vampire in the shadows carefully tuck away a video camcorder and disappear.

A burst of warmth and the smell of smoke hit her senses the moment she entered the club. Buffy swept her eyes through the crowd, skipping over the tables and spotting a few familiar faces, but not the one she wanted to see. One she was trying to convince herself she didn’t really want to see, despite purposely stopping by places certain vampires were likely to visit. Nope. Definitely didn’t want to see him.

“Looking for somebody?” Cordelia’s voice came behind her. Buffy spun around.

“Looking? Nope, no looking here! So not—nada.” Buffy tried plastering the most innocent smile she could manage.

“Uh huh. Well my date is a total no-show,” said Cordelia, looking at Buffy in that can-you-believe-the-insult way.

“Wow. What a…loser. God.” Buffy gave a helpfully indignant look, and Cordelia all but jumped on it.

“I know! I mean, I expected that from Brad because, duh, seniority rules, but Greg? You remember Greg.” Buffy followed Cordelia to an empty table and glanced around the club again, hoping to spot a bright blond head amongst the sea of people. Nothing, again. Buffy growled a little under her breath.

How could he just disappear? Vampires don’t disappear! Not new ones that show up in town promising destruction and mischief and smoochies!

 _No, not that_ , Buffy mentally berated herself. The smooching was irrelevant. Non sequitur. She wanted to find him so she could finish this. Whatever this was that was hanging between them. It was unfinished business, really. And Buffy, well, she wasn’t one to leave things hanging.

Fingers snapped in front of her eyes and Buffy startled. Cordelia gave her a dry look. “You’re looking for a guy.”

Buffy froze. “What?”

“You.” She pointed at Buffy. “Looking for a guy. A hot one, too.”

“What, me? Looking for---pffft. Nah. No boys for me. Too busy slaying. I’m No-Boy Buffy.”

“Uh huh. Mind explaining the drool on your chin, then?”

Hastily Buffy wiped her mouth with the end of her sleeve. When Buffy saw she wasn’t going to drop it, she looked at Cordelia sheepishly. “It’s not…a big deal.”

“Never said it was,” Cordelia shrugged carelessly, and Buffy could tell she meant it. “It’s just hard not to notice the moon eyes when you’re literally eight inches away from me.”

“They’re not…moony,” Buffy mumbled, glancing down at her lap.

“Please. I smell unsatisfied junior all over you.” Cordelia crossed her arms. Buffy’s cheeks tinged pink. “Since I got stood up and you’re, well, already here and everything, you may as well spill.”

Buffy gave Cordelia a hard look. “Yeah. Because that’s not gonna make the front page of Sunnydale High’s weekly paper at _all_.”

“Please. That is such a freshman thing to do.” Cordelia placed her hand sincerely on her heart. “When have I ever blabbed about you to other people?”

Buffy stared at her. “All the time. Literally.”

“Well I haven’t said a thing about you being the Slayer!” said Cordelia defensively.

Buffy hissed, “Say that a little louder, why don’t you?”

“My statement still stands.”

Buffy groaned inwardly. She was not having this discussion, not with Cordelia. But…then who else would she have it with? Telling Willow and Xander was a no-go—Willow made it explicitly clear last time that while the Spike lusties weren’t wrong at the time, her duty came first and that meant no more lusties. And Xander…god, no.

Giles? Just the thought made her cringe. Her mom? She’d been carrying an axe when Buffy found her after the vampire invasion in the school. The last thing she wanted was her mom taking a swing at a certain bleached head the moment she found out what actually had happened.

What actually had happened…her lips tingled just at the memory.

“Earth to Buffy? Seriously, could you be more of a freakazoid?”

Buffy scowled at her. “You know, really not motivated here to spill my deep dark secrets to you.”

“So you admit there’s deep dark secrets?” Cordelia’s eyes lit up.

Buffy sighed. Really, really sighed. If there weren’t pumpkin guts still down the back of her shirt, she might have gotten up and walked away. As it was, it had already been a crappy evening and she could not be held fully responsible for her current questionable decision-making skills.

“You really won’t tell anyone?”

“Obviously. This one falls under the girl code.” Cordelia patted Buffy’s hand. “Consider it my unfailing generosity.”

Buffy snatched her hand from Cordelia’s grip and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. I met a guy. We made out. Haven’t seen him since. Can I go now?”

“Over your life, Summers! Who? When, and where? _How_?” Cordelia demanded.

“None of your business, a few weeks ago, and…on a floor.” Buffy blushed a little. “The ‘how’ you should already know how it works. Four lips, one kiss.”

“Does he go to our school?”

Buffy snorted. “Not even close.”

“Out of towner?”

“Something like that.”

“Look at you,” Cordelia’s eyebrows rose, impressed. “You know, when I got to know you a bit last year I knew right away you were pretty lame. I gotta say though, if you keep this up you’ll definitely join our ranks by senior year.”

“My life’s dream,” Buffy said dryly.

“So why the Bronze?”

“We met here once,” Buffy admitted. “I thought maybe if—”

“You revisited where you two hung out, you’d run into him,” Cordelia nodded easily. “Yeah, that usually works. I’m guessing not this time.”

“Nope.”

“He’s probably not interested.”

A pang hit her chest. “Most likely.”

“Or he’s already left town.”

“Also likely.”

“That means you should get over him, Buffy.”

Her blunt honesty made Buffy squirm. “I am,” she said quickly. “Soo over it. In fact, I hate him, and I’m pretty positive it’s mutual. But…” Buffy glanced again at the door. The feeling in her chest was inexplicable. “You didn’t kiss him.”

Cordelia’s eyebrows hiked up past her bangs. “Oh my god. You frenched him on the first kiss.”

Buffy blushed furiously and sank lower in her chair. “I’m a total ho, aren’t I.”

Cordelia looked at her thoughtfully. “Well, was it good?”

For the first time that evening, Buffy allowed herself to relive the moments she had locked away in her mind—cool breath mingling with hers, soft lips pressed against her mouth, and the expert slide of his tongue as he all but devoured her. Hands that knew just where to touch, lighting up her entire body—

“Yeah,” said Buffy, finally. “It really was.”

Cordelia shrugged, picking up a napkin and idly shredding it. “Then you’re not a total ho.”

Buffy’s lips twitched, then she smiled with a soft laugh. “Thanks, Cordy.”

**-:-**

“Here it comes,” Spike muttered to the other vampire, his eyes fixed on the monitor. “Rewind that. Let’s see that again.”

The video looped back before replaying the scene. God, the way the slayer moved. All lithe muscles and sure fists; even when without a prayer of a chance, she found a way to change the game. She was battling one of his minions in a pumpkin patch, of all places, but it didn’t seem to make a lick of difference to the slayer. When she grabbed the wooden sign post, Spike chuckled. “She’s tricky,” Spike ran his tongue over his teeth, watching her make the kill. “Baby likes to play.”

He rewound the scene again, watching her stake the vampire. Fucking resourceful, that was. He loved this. He _loved_ this, the natural skill she had, so different from the other slayers he’d fought. Different from anything he has fought, frankly.

When she stood up, Spike’s eyes were glued to the inches of skin revealed when she gingerly peeled the jacket off. At the telltale tightening of his jeans, Spike cleared his throat and glared at the minion. “Hand over the remote and piss off.”

The minion scuttled away, closing the door behind him. Spike fiddled with the remote between his hands, hesitating. Then, he rewound the tape again.

Just the first few seconds of the slayer’s fight had him suppressing a groan. His body was reacting as if he’d never seen a girl fight before. It made him furious. Spike watched as she crashed into a pumpkin and it broke beneath her back. His eyes shuttered as he remembered what the felt like, having the slayer beneath him, squirming with all that heated skin and pillowy lips, making the neediest little sounds as he…

Spike let his hand reach down and squeeze his cock through his jeans, relieving some of the pressure building up. God, he was gonna be that wanker, wasn’t he? Staring at a screen, pulling himself off. Oh balls, she was stripping off the jacket again. If he could just…

The door to the other room opened and Drusilla walked through. Hastily, Spike yanked his hand away from his crotch and stuffed both hands in his pockets, clearing his throat. “What is it, baby?” He hoped to god his duster was covering the raging hard on.

“Miss Edith needs her tea.” Drusilla’s eyes flickered up at the screen. “She must be ready when everything switches. Outside to inside.”

A century of being with Dru taught him when her words were floaty rubbish and when they were bits and pieces from a vision. This one had vision written all over it. “Really? When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Spike almost rolled his eyes. “Tomorrow’s Halloween, pet. Nothing happens on Halloween.”

Drusilla only smiled before turning away. “Best take care of little William before he pops, darling. You’ll need him tomorrow.”

With the sound of her distant humming echoing down the halls, Spike growled loudly and yelled, “No I won’t, you bloody bitch! I don’t want the slayer!” Looking helplessly at his stubborn erection, he whined, “For god’s sake stop encouraging this, Dru!”

**-:-**

Buffy had taken one look at the Victorian costume in Ethan’s Costume Shop and immediately walked out, ignoring Willow’s coaxing as she followed after her.

“C’mon, Buffy, you’ve tried three places already,” Willow reminded. “The last place left is the sad little Wal-Mart on the other end of town. Even Homeless Bob doesn’t go there anymore.”

“I’m not going there, Willow. But I also know none of these shops have what I want. I mean, that Victorian costume? Totally something I would’ve wanted if I still had the lusties for Angel.” Buffy shook her head. “I wanna do something totally different. Something Buffy Summers has never done.”

“What’s that?”

Buffy licked her lips, watching a couple walk past them and following them with her eyes. A smile spread on her lips. “Something homemade. And I think I have just the stuff.”

Two hours and several closet raids later, Buffy recapped the small container of rice powder and cleaned off the last bits of grease paint on her makeup brush. In the mirror, Buffy looked nothing like herself. Nothing like…well, most people, anyway. But she definitely stood out. And certainly paid homage to a generation she knew _certain_ people would appreciate.

Not that she had expectations or anything.

The fishnet stockings she had worn before, but coupled with a little black dress and fishnet arm sleeves, this was all new territory. Oddly enough, she felt a bit exposed even though she was dressed head to toe. Buffy looked in the mirror again, following every contour and dip, and started to smile.

Oh yeah, she was _so_ okay with this.

Now all that was left was a dark wig and—

“Buffy, I—whoa!” Willow’s jaw dropped as she stopped at the threshold to Buffy’s room. Buffy grinned and popped out her hip a little with her hands on her waist. “You like?”

“Ho…whoa. Whoa, Buffy, this…” Willow’s eyes narrowed and she titled her head a little. “I mean, it’s actually kind of hot.”

“Right? Who knew my mom’s old stash of makeup would come in handy. Or that she owned rice powder in Clown White?” Buffy did a little twirl, feeling more and more confident the longer she was in this getup.

“I’m pretty sure I know the theme here, but just to be sure…” Willow quirked a questioning brow. Buffy leaned towards her dresser and picked up the vinyl album cover, holding it up. _Siouxsie and the Banshees_ was written in bold across it.

“Wow,” Willow breathed. “I didn’t even know you liked them.”

“My mom has all their records.” Buffy shrugged as she tossed the album on her bed. “I’ve heard enough of their music over the years to get the idea.” Buffy paused and finally took in Willow’s costume. “And look at you! Willow, this is so great.”

“I don’t know. I feel all exposey,” Willow stammered, tugging uncomfortably at the end of her skirt. “It’s just not me.”

“That’s the point,” Buffy said firmly. “Do you really think _this_ is what I am in real life?”

“I know. I just…”

Joyce walked into Buffy’s room at the moment, stopped, and looked at the two girls. She opened and closed her mouth several times before finally settling on a weak, “Oh, boy.”

**-:-**

Halloween in Sunnydale. Boring as shit town, but something was definitely different. In the end Spike had decided to take up Dru’s prediction and leave the factory to prowl the streets, and boy did he prowl.

Crowds of wee little demon children snarling and growling, tin men now frozen paralyzed on the streets, costumed vampires and witches now hissing and jeering and setting things on fire. There was screaming, there was blood…and it sort of annoyed him. He loved himself a good brawl and a bit of pyrotechnics, but on Halloween? Did the sanctity of demon code mean anything anymore?

“This better be worth it,” Spike said under his breath. “Giving up my day off for…” He saw her. At the end of the sidewalk, staring at him. “…This.”

She stood frozen to the spot. Slowly, Spike walked closer. And closer. She didn’t move, rooted to the corner of a sidewalk that went into an alley. When he was a foot away, she tilted her head questioningly.

Spike took in the boots and the fishnets, the dress and the mane of black hair before settling on her cat-eyed makeup. He hiked a brow. “Slayer.”

He watched Buffy lick her lips slowly, then say, “What slayer?”

Spike hesitated, then it made sense. Outsides to insides. Oh now, _this_ was something! Pressing his tongue gleefully behind his teeth, Spike tilted his head and drawled, “What shall I call you then, love?”

Buffy hesitated again. Odd, that. If this was topsy-turvy day then why was she looking at him like she knew him?

“Siouxsie.” He could see her confidence build, and she settled her hands on her hips in a defiant gesture. “Siouxsie Sioux.”

“Uh huh. I can see that.” His eyes raked over her again. “Sure you’re not anything else, pet?”

He heard her heart skip a beat. “Nope.”

Lying.

She was lying.

The question of _why_ nattered in his brain, and he couldn’t help but step a little bit closer. “Hm. Now that’s interesting.” He saw her eyes narrow when he drew in, muscles tensing up for a fight. He wouldn’t have any of that. “Gotta say, the real Siouxsie did a lot better job with the eyebrow thing.”

Buffy’s eyes flashed with anger, and she exclaimed, “I worked on this for two hours and you have no idea how hard punk makeup is when all my mom ever allowed me to do before was lip gloss and mascara—”

Spike swooped in and kissed her.

When he pulled back, Buffy had a dazed look. “And some blush,” she finished, weakly.

Why the hell did he do that? He didn’t mean to do that. He’d meant to strangle her neck, not—oh, sod it. This was happening. Again. “You’re not like the rest of the town,” Spike noted idly, twisting a lock of sheared black hair between his fingers. Synthetic. “Everyone’s playin’ out their costume lives.”

“None of what I’m wearing was bought as a costume.”

“That it, then? Slayer walks free because she dressed sensibly?”

Her mouth opened but she paused. He watched curiously as her gaze darted around the visibly vacant street. “I read a book.”

Spike’s eyebrows rose high. “Hooked on phonics, are you?”

Buffy glared. “It mentioned you in it. And…other people.” Buffy’s expression turned unreadable. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.”

Spike’s dark mood returned, and he stepped away from her. “‘Had’ being the operative word.”

There was that skipped heartbeat again. He wasn’t sure if he loved it or resented it.

“As of when?”

“When do you _think?_ ”

Buffy glanced down. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. The love of my unlife is gone, thanks to you. Good thing you brought it up, Slayer, or else I might’ve forgotten why I actually came here.”

Her expression closed, completely cutting off both the knockoff Siouxsie persona and the hesitant Buffy side he was starting to know and grudgingly like. “I guess it’s ‘later’ now, isn’t it?”

Spike’s eyes widened. Later. The promise of a dance, of acknowledging the consequences of their last dalliance. Of finally choosing a side. Either he figures out what it is about this girl that makes him want...makes him _want_ , or he goes for the kill. The whole bloody reason he came to Sunnyhell in the first place; bag the slayer, fix Dru.

Didn’t help that his sire kept giving her bloody _blessing_ whenever the slayer was mentioned.

“Well?” Buffy took another step back, her body tense and ready for him.

Spike’s mind raced. Was it later now? Fuck, he wasn’t ready for later. He still wanted to brood and bitch and kick up a fuss, not jump into a decision. Not when he wanted to touch her again. Not when he wanted to rage on some more about how angry it made him that he wanted to touch her again.

“Spike?”

“Bloody hell, give a man a minute!”

“Alright,” Buffy held up her hands in a sign of backing off. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he said sulkily.

“Alright.”

“Stop that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Buffy scowled.

“Yes you are. Standing there, dressed in that color and eyes all sexy-like, you’re distracting me!”

“Well what am I supposed to do about that?”

“Just _shut up!_ ”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Like magnets in a field they drew together, her arms around his neck and his wrapped around her waist, lips working furiously against each other. Buffy groaned and Spike held her up tighter, nearly lifting her off her toes as he crushed her against his chest.

Buffy broke away and panted, “Alley.”

“Alley,” Spike nodded breathlessly, and they stumbled backwards into the darkened alley. He pushed her against the brick wall and kissed her hard, reveling in her answering moan and the way her fingers curled in his hair at the nape of his neck. His left hand left her waist and slid upwards, brushing the side of her breast before circuiting back down, down to the edge of the dress until his fingers brushed against cool skin and fishnet stockings.

“You do this for me, pet?” Spike asked quietly, pressing a kiss behind her ear and enjoying her shudder. “You get all dolled up for me to see?”

“M…maybe,” Buffy exhaled into his mouth as he kissed her again. And again. Her leg slid up his thigh and wrapped tightly around his hip as he sipped kisses from her delectable, pouty lips. Teasingly he licked her lips and she opened her mouth, doing a flicking thing against his tongue that had him seeing stars. God, she was good. She was so bloody good. She was something entirely different.

Groaning, Spike pulled away and pressed his forehead against hers, both of them gasping for breath. Eyes flickering down at the leg wrapped around him, Spike moved his hand so it slowly slid up her exposed thigh, feeling goosebumps break over her skin as he let his fingers slip under the skirt of her dress.

His lips quirked a bit when she moaned softly and arched her hips into his. Her heartbeat sped up when she felt his hard on, but she didn’t pull away. In fact…

Spike dropped a kiss on her cheek before nuzzling her throat. “You want this, Slayer?” She flinched. Frowning, Spike pulled back to look at her. At the cagey look in her eyes, Spike understood. Reaching up and pulling off the dark-haired wig, he watched her soft blonde hair tumble out of the hairnet and spill over her shoulders. He tried again. “You want this…Buffy?”

Licking her lips, Buffy nodded. Hiding a smile in her neck, Spike pressed soft kisses down her throat to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, feeling her body shiver against him. He was tempted to scrape his teeth against the skin there, feel that extra jolt of shock from her that he knew she’d have, simply from the nature of what they were. A slayer with a vampire at her neck. Though he was sure he was the first vampire to do _this_ …

“You want me to touch you?” Spike licked the shell of her ear.

Buffy let out a shaky, ragged breath. “Mhm...”

“Where?”

She didn’t respond. Instead she pulled his head down again and fused their mouths together, and Spike just about lost his head when she slanted her mouth and kissed him deeply, his toes threatening to curl like some sodding schoolboy. Spike let out a moan when she rolled her hips against his, not stopping this time. He broke the kiss with a grin.

“As lovely as that feels, pet, you still gotta tell me where.”

“Do you really need an instruction manual?” Buffy snapped.

Spike shrugged. “Wouldn’t mind if it’s something that got you off.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Spike frowned.

He looked at her, then, _really_ looked at her, past the power that was the slayer to the girl underneath. The girl was wrought with nerves; he could see it.

“You…have you ever…?”

“No.” Buffy finally met his gaze, daring him to make fun of her. His heart clenched a bit at that.

Gently, Spike tucked a strand of hair behind Buffy’s ear. She watched his tender movements until he felt her relax against him again, her eyes half-closed.

“I can learn fast,” Buffy said quietly.

He bet she could. He could feel the insecurity radiating off of her and it made him a little sad. She had nothing to worry about with him. Absolutely nothing. He’d make certain of it. Spike brushed his thumb against her lower lip and asked, “How old are you?”

She didn’t answer right away. “I’ll be seventeen in three months.”

Oh, hell. She was so young. Too young. He forgot how young they were Called.

He waited too long to respond and Buffy started pushing against Spike’s chest, trying to break free. Probably feeling that sting of his rejection, only that wasn’t the case at all. He locked his arms around her like iron bands and sank back into her, hips against hers and her back firmly against the wall. Before she could protest he kissed her deeply, probingly, and immediately she was responding eagerly again.

The sounds of voices filtered into the alley and they both froze, panting. Buffy yelped when Spike lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs automatically around his waist as he walked them to a metal door a few feet away.

“What—?” Buffy watched in confusion as he yanked the door open and closed it quickly. They were in a dimly lit storage room. _Perfect_ , Spike thought, smiling.

He dropped her roughly on a metal table and pushed off a few boxes to make room for them. Buffy giggled a little and pulled him close as their lips met again.

They kissed for what felt like ages, devouring, discovering what the other really liked, and eliciting soft moans and needy whimpers. Soon enough she started squirming again, her hands moving impatiently over him.

Finally, Buffy tore her mouth away and said with a huff, “Are we just gonna kiss all night?”

Spike blinked. “Did you not like the kissing?”

“I love the kissing,” Buffy said quickly. “Kissing is superb. Totally stoked for all the kissing. B—but I thought…”

Spike quirked a brow. “You want that? Now?”

Buffy blushed a pretty pink color, and it took all his restraint not to take her head in his hands and rain kisses all over her flushed skin. “Well…no. I’m not ready for—that.”

“Then I’m not seeing the problem here, love.” He pressed a reassuring kiss on her jaw. “This is fine.”

“I know. I just…” Buffy squirmed again, thighs loosening and tightening around him, and a slow smile began spreading on Spike’s face.

All that frustration, that stinging anger from just hours ago with Dru’s dismissal, melted away in this small moment with the slayer. With Buffy. This…oh, this was going to be something _new._

Fucking. Finally.

“Think I’ve an idea of what you’re feeling, sweetheart.” Spike’s hands slid under Buffy’s skirt until they reached the edge of her stockings. “And I think we can come up with something to fix it.”

His fingers slipped underneath the waistband of her panties and lightly ran them against her heated skin. Buffy inhaled sharply and arched into his touch. Her scent perfumed the air around them and Spike couldn’t help stealing another long kiss. His jeans were painfully tight, his cock straining harder than it’d ever had in the last six months. His traitorous mind was moving rapidly at how this could go—rip the stockings, shred the panties, and sink home in a single powerful thrust. His demon agreed eagerly and encouraged him to do just that, but Spike forced the intrusive thoughts down. He wouldn’t do that, not now. One day it was a possibility, but not like this. Not when there was so much he could give her first.

“If you don’t like something, or you want me to stop, just say the word.”

Buffy swallowed hard and nodded. Her eyes were wide and her heart was racing, but he didn’t smell fear. It was all excitement and nerves, and Spike knew it would be only moments until it was just the former.

Smiling a little, Spike leaned down and kissed her again. Their mouths moved slowly, luxuriously this time, the heated frenzy giving way to something warm and thrilling. As she melted into him Spike continued tracing his fingers on her skin just below the waistband of her panties. His other hand slid up her waist, up her ribcage, until his thumb scraped at where her nipple lay underneath the dress. Buffy gasped and whimpered softly, pushing her chest up into his palm.

He left a sucking kiss at her throat as his thumb continued flicking and rolling against her nub. “So bloody beautiful,” Spike breathed. He lowered the strap and yanked down at the neckline until his lips suckled in her nipple, causing her to cry out.

“O-oh…Spike…” Buffy’s hands clutched at his shoulders, halfway pushing off his duster until it stopped at his elbows. She pushed her chest firmly against his mouth, wiggling a little as he laved the sensitive skin. She all but fell backwards when he lightly bit down.

“Yeah, you like that?” He watched Buffy’s glazed eyes follow the movement of his hand as he yanked the other strap down left her chest bare to the outside air. He inwardly preened when he saw how much his occasionally rough treatment excited her. “You like the Big Bad sucking your pretty little tits?”

“You…hmm…” she faltered when he attended to her neglected breast, his thumb still working the other, “talk too much.”

His laugh turned into a low groan when her nails scraped down his abdomen and tugged his shirt from his pants, slipping her hands up his stomach. “God, the things you do to me…”

“Good things?” Buffy asked, quirking a smile.

“Bleeding amazing things.” Spike’s voice was soft, with a touch of wonder in his words. His demon complained a bit at that, still very distracted at the task at hand, and Spike had to agree. Without preamble, Spike withdrew his hand from her skin, licked his fingertips, and finally slipped his hand down Buffy’s panties.

Soft, warm skin met his fingers. Just feeling the wetness already pooled there had him nearly shooting his load, and he breathed in her aroma. He was nearly dizzy with her—her scent, her touch, the smooth skin of her—

“Well, well,” Spike’s lips curled into a wide grin, “baby likes it smooth, huh?”

Buffy flushed hotly, biting her lip. Then she lifted her chin and replied, “Yup. You like?”

“Oh, I like. Never felt it before—always knew though that chits started doing it some decades ago.”

“Really? Never?” Buffy looked surprised.

“Never was with anyone ’cept Dru, yeah?”

“Oh. Well—”

“You really wanna talk about this while my hand’s down your unmentionables, Slayer?” Spike said impatiently.

“You brought it up!”

“Mmm, I’d say you did,” Spike’s eyes glittered with double meaning as he arched his hardened cock against her thigh. Buffy stifled a moan and Spike slid his fingers down, running them over her outer lips before circling around her opening, gathering the wetness there. “This all for me? I love it.”

Buffy had never done this before, and Spike loved that too. He’d never seen this before, the abject shock of someone who’d never felt that first, heady shiver before when his finger grazed her clit. Dru was his first but he certainly hadn’t been hers. This was as new for Spike as it was for Buffy, and he was determined to savor every damn moment of this. The way her lips parted when he rubbed her just right. The way her breasts moved under her shaky, uneven breaths. The way her legs fell open just a little more, inviting him in, wanting more pleasure.

“You ever touch yourself before, Buffy?” Spike’s voice was rough with desire as his fingers slid down again, hovering at her entrance. “You ever lay in your soft little bed with the lights off and the door locked and touch yourself like this?”

A throaty gasp left her mouth when he slid a finger inside her. Spike’s eyes shuttered; she was so tight. So fucking tight, even for this. “You ever dip your finger inside and try feeling this? You ever do both at once, clit and pussy?”

“Spike, oh my _god_ …”

Buffy arched helplessly against him as she gradually relaxed, letting him slide deeper inside her and add a second finger. She was twitching a little, as bolts of electricity coursed through her body. “You told me before that I’d remember you because of your name. You’ll remember me for being the first to give you _this_.”

His fingers curled against the spot he’d been looking for and Buffy shrieked, legs clamping around him as he worked her body, thumb swirling insistently at her clit. She was gasping breathlessly, fingers knotted in his shirt as she looked him in the eyes, letting him to see all her shock and her pleasure. Spike watched hungrily as Buffy’s body went tense and then all at once exploded, hips shuddering uncontrollably. He gentled his touch, letting her ride out her orgasm until she slumped against the table.

He slipped his fingers out and sucked on them slowly, groaning at the taste of her juices. She was a goddess. There was no other explanation. She was spread before him, hair splayed out and chest heaving, smelling like heaven and tasting like it too. Gently, Spike pulled her up against him, dropping kisses wherever his lips could find her skin and holding her through her aftershocks. The last kiss ended on her lips, and by then Buffy had finally gained enough of herself to kiss him back fiercely.

When her lips broke apart from his, she said softly, “So glad that we didn’t do ‘later’.”

Grinning, Spike leaned in again when sounds from the outside interrupted them. Crying children, for one, among other shouty and important sounds. Buffy frowned. “I think the spell’s been broken. Yikes. I was supposed to be doing that.”

“Good that it’s done though, innit?”

Buffy nodded. They parted a little uneasily, fixing their clothes. Spike held out her Siouxsie wig, and she took it with a grateful look.

They stared at each other for a long, silent moment.

Finally, the slayer settled on a quiet, “Later.”

Spike tilted his head curiously. “Even for this?”

Buffy looked away. “I…”

Spike took the risk and stepped forward, lifting a hand to tilt her chin up and let their eyes meet. “Later is for the dance we’re owed, Slayer. To kill or be killed and all that rot. This…” he ran his hand down her neck to her collarbone, and she shivered under his touch. Spike smirked. “This is for fun.”

A hesitant smile spread on Buffy’s lips, and she leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. “I like the sound of that.”

Without another word, the two parted ways from the abandoned alley, one towards suburbia and the other to a crumbling, cold factory, neither able to stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess I earned my rating now, yeah? ;) 
> 
> Each chapter is gonna be fairly smutty from here on out (as per challenge rules), so expect a good bit of that into the plot. Special shoutout to my best girl leftennant, who so helpfully shared with me all the old school makeup trends that would've likely been used by Siouxsie Sioux. 
> 
> Until chapter three. xxx


	3. A Taste of Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd add that as this fic is a S2 rewrite of sorts, dialogue has and will continue to be used (and fudged around with) from the canon dialogue. None of those lines are mine :)

**Chapter 3:**  A Taste of Honey

AKA: Lie With Me

**-:-**

Buffy took in a deep breath in the musty hall of Sunnydale High and smiled brightly.

Was the air always this crisp? Were the birds always this chirpy? They were definitely chirpier. And Sunnydale, while still sitting on a hellmouth, seemed just that much lovelier in the bright light of day. Everything was wonderful with a capital W.  

“Buffy?”

She glanced up. Giles was peering down at her unsurely. “Um, did we hunt last night?”

Buffy swallowed hard, trying not to think of who’d had her pressed against a certain willow tree near a certain cemetery, kissing the life out of her during patrol. It was the first time they’d seen each other since last week on Halloween, and she only had a few stolen moments with him before demon slaying had gotten in the way. It had been worth every second. “I did a couple sweeps downtown.”

“Any encounters?” Giles asked.

 _If you only knew_ . “Nothing vampirey.” They walked slowly down the hallway from the school library. Giles cleared his throat, cutting off another daydream she was about to fall into: cool lips, soft hands on sensitive skin, probing fingers touching  _just right_ —

“I’ve been researching your friend Spike. The, ah—”

“What?” Buffy froze, the color draining from her face. “Friend? No. So not friends. So, so, so,  _so_ —”

“It’s a figure of speech, Buffy,” Giles cut off her ramble with an odd look. “Well, that is, the profile on him is fairly unappetizing. But I-I still haven’t gotten a bead on why he’s here.”

Buffy let herself relax, shrugging mildly. “Does he need a reason? They live for death and destruction; what’s a trip to the hellmouth?”

“…Yes,” Giles said hesitantly, “but Spike is significantly older than your average vampire, and from the Aurelian line, no less. Perhaps you should consult Angel—”

“No,” Buffy said automatically.

“Buffy.” Giles stopped in the middle of the hallway to turn to her. “I understand you may have, er, some misgivings, but Angel has proven to be a good source and ally in these matters.”

“I’m the Slayer,” Buffy said firmly. “It’s my job to handle demons like Spike.”

And boy did she want to handle him.

“Buffy, are you sure?” Giles said, unconvinced and a little bit confused at her sudden enthusiasm.

“Just let me do this, Giles,” Buffy broke from her distraction to give Giles a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll do some recon between patrols. Even some research.” Giles frowned dubiously. “It’s been known to happen,” Buffy said defensively, hands now on her hips. “You, um, you said there was a book you were reading up on that had more details on Spike?”

“Yes, in the library—”

“Great! I’ll grab that after school.” Buffy glanced past a bewildered Giles and caught Cordelia’s gaze as she walked by. When their eyes connected, Cordelia’s eyes grew wide. Buffy’s heartbeat sped up and she looked away.

Cordelia left the other side of the hall and made a beeline towards them. “Hey Mr. Giles, how’s the library been?” she asked eagerly.

Giles blinked in surprise. “Very well, thank you. Speaking of, there’s a book nearly overdue that you—”

“Uh huh, bye now,” Cordelia’s slim fingers wrapped around Buffy’s wrist and pulled her away, marching them straight to an empty corridor before rounding on Buffy.

“I know it happened, so spill.”

“What?” Buffy’s cheeks turned bright pink as she struggled to meet Cordelia’s gaze. “I have no idea what you’re…” Cordelia’s perfectly shaped eyebrow rose. Buffy deflated inwardly. “To think I checked the mirror to make sure it wasn’t written in black ink across my face.” Buffy looked at Cordelia unsurely. “Is it really that obvious?”

“That you have a stamp on your forehead that says ‘I just had the best orgasm ever’? No.” Cordelia shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t see it right away. I’m well read in this kind of thing.”

Buffy groaned, leaning her head back and sagging against the concrete wall. “If I can’t even keep this from you, how am I going to keep it from everyone else?”

“Like I said, I have an eye for this. The rest of your loser friends will stay clueless. Trust me.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “Are you… trying to cheer me up?”

“Oh, please.” Cordelia crossed her arms huffily, without didn’t actually deny it. “Rule number five in the girl code is when one of us gets past first base, the other has to spill. I would so tell you if I did.”

Buffy’s eyebrows rose. “Did you?”

Cordelia gave a withering smile. “If I was recently stood up at the Bronze, what do  _you_  think?”

“Oh. Have you ever? You know?”

Cordelia’s mouth quirked, the little dimple making a flash appearance before disappearing into a stern frown. “Uh-uh. You first, vampire girl. Only then will the secrets of Cordelia Chase come forth.”

Buffy’s hands twisted in the fabric of her skirt, not meeting her eyes. “Yeah. It…yeah. It happened.”

“With mystery guy from out of town?” Cordelia asked. Buffy nodded. Cordelia grinned. “I knew it! How was it, then? Awkward and fumbly or hot and heavy?”

Buffy’s face was consumed in red, but she felt a sort of relief in finally getting to talk to someone about it and smiled shyly. Keeping it bottled up and hidden for a solid week had been the hardest thing, and she found herself wanting to blurt the truth whenever around Willow, or Xander, or even just having dinner with Joyce. That had been a particularly mortifying battle. What would she have said?  _‘Hey Mom, guess what? Your little girl had her very first orgasm last Saturday! And by a soulless, murdering vampire I met a few days ago, aren’t you proud?’_

Buffy shook away the thought and went back to Cordelia’s question. “It was really hot. He, um. Talked.” Cordelia frowned, not understanding. Buffy blushed further. “During. He—he talked. It…”

“Got you off.” Cordelia’s eyebrows were hiked up, impressed. “Wow…”

“Yeah. God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“He actually knows what he’s doing, then! Not just that big talk that guys like to do to inflate their egos.” Cordelia knocked Buffy’s shoulder with hers as she settled next to her against the wall.

Buffy smiled, ducking her head a little. “Definitely not that kind of big talk. It was…it felt…”  _Exhilarating. Wonderful. Devastating_. “He was really nice.”

“Did you two…you know…?” Cordelia gave a pointed look.

“Nothing like that.” Buffy shook her head rapidly. “Not ready for that. But we had fun.  _I_ had fun, and he was really, really nice about it...oh, my god.” Buffy’s eyes went wide and she turned to Cordelia. “Was that bad of me? I mean he—with the touching and the—and I know he was turned on, I could feel it—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Cordelia stopped Buffy’s panicked rant with a sharp hand in the air. “Full sentences for the audience, please.”

“I had a…you know.” Buffy gave Cordelia a meaningful look.

“An orgasm,” Cordelia supplied with an obvious look.

“Right. But he didn’t. A-at least I don’t think he did. Was he supposed to? I mean, he was really,  _really_  focused on getting me to…you know, and then the spell broke and everyone went back to normal and we had to leave.”

“Spell? What spell?” Buffy winced at her confusion. She could see the lightbulb slowly flicker on in Cordelia’s mind. “Wait a minute. This happened on Halloween?” Buffy nodded, anticipating Cordy’s wrath, and it did not disappoint. “So that’s where you went! Good to know you were getting a happy while Giles, Willow’s ghost, and G. I. Xander cracked down on that sleazy British guy at the costume shop.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Buffy said quickly. “Or…it was. A little. B-but I planned to help right after that.”

“Uh huh. Have you seen him since?”

Buffy bit her lip. “Last night, during patrol. For a few minutes at least, before a big grumpy demon decided to interrupt. By then he was gone.”

Cordelia nodded, absorbing her words. “Well…you said he mainly wanted you to get off. He was sweet about it. He hasn’t said anything else?”

“Nope. Not that we really had a chance for words about it.”

“I don’t see what you’re worrying about, then. If he’s not pushing for it, hasn’t mentioned it, you’re in the clear.”

Buffy chewed on her lower lip. “That’s true. But do you think…” She couldn’t get herself to say it. Every time the words were on tip of her tongue, they were swallowed up by her damning shyness. Still, Cordelia was being surprisingly nonjudgy, and Buffy had to ask. “Should I do that?”

A coquettish grin spread over Cordelia’s lips, and she ticked a brow. “If you want to, go for it. I know they all want you to think good girls don’t do it but trust me. Feeling good goes both ways.”

Buffy nodded, thinking. It wasn’t as if he’d asked more from her. In fact, now that she thought about it, he’d only gone further with her when she’d all but demanded he do something other than kiss her.

The dance between right and wrong had gotten murkier the second Spike had changed the rules. A fight was owed between them. He was a demon, she was a slayer. As Giles had pointed out earlier, he had come to Sunnydale with a purpose, and she was fairly certain it wasn’t just to make Buffy constantly question her morality. She needed to know, but she didn’t want to confront that truth. Not when everything felt so blissful. Not when she finally had something for herself.

Wasn’t that what Spike had said, after all? Later was for killing and to be killed; the intimacy they shared outside of that was just for them. For fun.

Buffy knew she should feel bad about this. There was a tiny little voice in the back of her mind that told her this was wrong, this went against her very nature. But it was hers. This was  _hers_ , and for once she wanted to see it through as Buffy Summers, rather than letting it end as the Vampire Slayer.

A kernel of doubt spread through her belly as Giles’s words came back to her again. Spike had come to Sunnydale for a reason. No matter what they shared between themselves in the middle of the night, he was still out there hunting and killing. That…was unacceptable.

“You spaced. Again. What’s going in that loser head of yours this time?” Cordelia crossed her arms as the warning bell went off in the halls.

Buffy hiked up her bag and looked at Cordelia, her mouth in a firm line. “That I know who I’m seeing tonight.”

Her moment was broken when a familiar voice called behind her. “Buffy?”

Buffy turned around. “Ford?”

**-:-**

Spike could not remember a time he was this happy.

Certainly not as a mortal. William’s soft and poncey interior never led him to many joyous things quite like this. As a vampire he’d had his share of bloodthirst and pillaging cities, and a hundred odd years with his sire. Even that, with all the sweet horror and moonlit lust, he hadn’t quite felt something as tangible as this. It was…different.

That realization alone was terrifyingly exhilarating.

Drusilla was sat at the dressing table, humming a soft tune as she tapped the rusting bars of an old bird cage. Inside was a sparrow lying dead at the bottom of the cage, a fact that was ignored as Drusilla continued to coo at it.

“Come on. I’ll pout if you don’t sing.”

Spike glanced at her from where he was spread out on the bed, hands tucked behind his head. “Dru?”

“Mm?” She tapped the cage again. “I’ll give you a seed if you sing.”

Spike rolled his thumb over his fingernails, chipping at the black nail polish. “If you knew all along I was meant for someone else, why didn’t you tell me from the beginning?”

Drusilla hummed again, her sweet voice filling the air. “You sing the sweetest little song. Won't you sing for me, hmm? Don't you love me anymore?”

“Drusilla.”

“Do you ever show a doggy a treat then tell them they can’t have it?” Drusilla straightened from the dresser and stared at him, her head tilting curiously to the side. “What does he do?”

Spike sat up on the bed and looked away, fiddling with a thread on the bedspread.

“He bites and snarls and doesn’t understand,” Drusilla finished for him, her tone still melodic as to coax the dead bird to stir. “He pouts and whines and cries. Why ask me tease you so, William? Even Mummy wouldn’t be so cruel.”

“I would have understood,” Spike muttered.

Drusilla tapped the cage again, and Spike snapped, “The bird's dead, Dru. You left it in a cage, and you didn't feed it, and now it's all dead, just like the last one.”

Drusilla’s shoulders curled around herself and she whimpered, eyes wide and lips drawn in a quivering pout. Regret instantly washed over him and he stood quickly, gently cupping her shoulders. “Oh, I'm sorry, pet. I'm a bad, rude man. Suppose you’re better off without me after all, yeah?”

Drusilla stood slowly, and Spike lightly held her elbows as she walked to the bed. “You’ve found your pleasures, my love. And so shall I.”

He didn’t know whether to twist away from her words or revel in them. “I…god, this is bloody weird. We were lovers not a month ago, Dru, and the way we’re going on about this is baffling.”

Dru gave him a look so exasperated that Spike sighed, settling down beside her on the bed. “Yeah, I know. Fate, destiny, and all that rot. Don’t see how it could possibly bloody work. She’s the slayer. Though the sweetest I’ve ever tasted, that’s certain.”

“You’ve tasted the slayer? Is she as sweet as the last we had?” Drusilla asked, perking a little next to him.

“Haven’t had her blood yet, love, just her—oh bloody hell, we’re  _not_ talking about this!” Spike collapsed backwards on the mattress, ignoring Dru’s giggles as he shoved a pillow over his face.

“Sweet as nectarines?” She whisper-sang, walking two fingers over his pillow. “Sweeter than wine?”

Spike slid the pillow off to reveal one narrowed eye to her. “Sweeter than you, you stone cold witch.”

“Cut your tongue,” Drusilla hissed, making Spike snort.

“’Spect you’ll be running off to Daddy as soon as it’s time,” Spike mumbled with a hint of bitterness in his tone. “He’s no good for you, baby. Couldn’t you find summat else to kibble on?”

“But we need him,” she replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “I rather like the idea of chaos.”

Drusilla quieted suddenly, a soft breath escaping her. Spike glanced at her. “What?”

“I smell a sickly boy, wandered far home.”

Frowning, Spike pushed off from the bed and strode to the hallway, then immediately growled. “Do I have anyone on watch here? It's called security, people. Are you all asleep?” He took a good look at the boy, smirking. “Or did we finally find a restaurant that delivers?”

A slight, teenaged boy beamed up at him. “Wow,” he said, his eyes running up and down Spike’s figure. Spike hiked a brow. “Really, wow. I know who you are.”

“Yeah, I know who I am, too. So what?”

“I came looking for you, Spike. You are Spike, right?” The boy held up his hands. “William the Bloody?”

“Yeah, William the Bloody Bored,” Spike retorted, advancing slowly on him. “Seriously, why hasn’t anyone killed him, yet? Dru’s gonna be peckish soon, you tossers.”

“I've got something to offer you. I-I'm pretty sure you’ll want to keep me alive long enough to hear what it is.” The boy backed away, but Spike didn’t smell a lick of fear on him.

“You've got a real death wish. It's almost interesting,” Spike noted. “Go on, then.” Drusilla appeared beside him, gently resting a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at her and was surprised to find her gaze intently fixed on the human boy.

“Oh, c'mon! Not even a little bit of threatening? It's no fun if you don't say something a  _little_  threatening.” The boy urged, and Spike heavily rolled his eyes.

“Right then. You've got thirty seconds to convince me not to kill you.”

The boy pumped his fist in the air, grinning, with a spark in his eyes. “Yes! See, this is the best!” He took a steadying breath and looked Spike in the eye. “I wanna be like you. A vampire.”

He felt Dru huff a laugh on his shoulder. Spike grimaced in distaste at the boy. “I've known you for two minutes, and I can't stand you. I don't really feature you livin' forever.” He turned to Drusilla. “Shall we eat him now?”

“Well, feature this,” he said boldly, “I'm offering you a trade.” Spike turned back slowly. “You make me a vampire, and I give you the Slayer.”

Spike stared at him. His heartbeat was steady; his words were true. He inhaled deeply and caught it—the faintest, slightest scent lingering on the boy’s clothes that told him he’d been in contact with said slayer. Anger flared in him faster than he could think. This boy thought he could deliver the slayer to  _him_? He thought he could put his hands on her and live?

A soft snarl erupted next to him. Dru’s fangs had dropped, and she was staring intently, if not a little weakly, at the human. Smiling, Spike said softly, “Think you can get this bird to sing, Dru?”

**-:-**

“Alright, honey, there’s food in the fridge and takeout menus on the table—and some spending money, but don’t use it all up in one day. It’s for emergencies too.” Joyce slung a heavy bag over her shoulder and readjusted her coat as they approached the front door.

“I know, I won’t. Have fun at the buying trip, Mom,” Buffy gave Joyce a strong hug, then opened the door.

“I’ll see you in three days, sweetheart,” Joyce smiled as she walked down the porch steps and to the car.

“Drive safely!”

With a parting wave, Buffy watched and waited for Joyce’s car to pull out of the driveway and take off onto the street. Sighing, she closed the door.

She’d only taken a few steps before two soft knocks came from the door. Buffy rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d forget something. Was it your tooth—” The door swung open and Spike was staring back at her, blue eyes bright from the moonlight. “—brush,” Buffy finished numbly, her breath catching.

The corner of Spike’s mouth curled up, devilish and far too knowing. “Hello, cutie.”

“Spike,” Buffy hissed, glancing down the empty street. “What the  _hell_  are you doing here?”

“Is that any way to greet a friend?” Spike pretended to be affronted as he leaned against the doorjamb. “’Specially the one whose throat had a gorgeous pink tongue down it not long ago—”

“My house is off. Limits.” Buffy clenched her jaw, fixing Spike with a firm glare. She watched his bravado slowly melt, leaving him tense and more than a little irritated. “Get out of here before anyone sees.”

Whatever headway she’d been making immediately vanished. Spike’s scowl cleared and a smirk lifted his mouth. “That your primary concern, is it? Getting caught?”

“One of many! Seriously, Spike, you have to go.”

“Know your mum’s just left, no one’s around to bother us.” Spike’s voice was hinting.

Buffy’s frown deepened.

He sighed and nodded once. “Right then, I’ll be along. Suppose you wouldn’t want to know after all just who crawled into my home this evening…Bobby Lord? Buddy Gourd?” Buffy’s eyes widened as Spike dug out a cigarette pack from his duster pocket. “For a slayer, you really ought to pick your pals better.”

“Billy? What…” Buffy shook her head. She knew something had been off about his sudden appearance, but how did he have anything to do with  _Spike_?

He made to leave, one foot on a porch step, and Buffy grabbed him by the arm. “Get in here.” She ignored the way his eyes lit up as she dragged him inside her home, the invisible barrier at the doorstep effectively disappearing.

Buffy shoved Spike against the staircase railing, watching him grin as his tongue darted out to press against his teeth. “Explain.”

“’S a right fascinating story, pet. Want to help a bloke remember?” Spike leaned heavily against the end of the railing, his eyes drifting to her mouth. Buffy pressed her lips together. There was no way she could break and smile right now, even if he made it far too tempting.

“I can’t believe I invited you in here,” Buffy muttered. “God, you’re so impatient. I was going to find you tonight anyway, you couldn’t wait a few more minutes for me to leave?”

Spike tilted his head, grinning. “You were gonna look for me?” Buffy stared at him, and Spike bounced a little on the balls of his feet. “You wanted to see me? I’m flattered, pet.”

“Again, you of all the impatience. Seriously, Spike. It’s no wonder you can’t beat me.”

“Oi, I could wipe the floor with you any day, Slayer. A man chooses not to.”

“So you chose to eat a bunch of high school tile when I was on top of you at Parent-Teacher Night?”

Spike’s eyes glazed over and he quirked up a brow. Liquid heat flushed through Buffy’s body at the slow, lingering look he was giving her. “Would prefer eating something else next time you’re on top, pet.”

 _Oh, my god._ Buffy’s inside became one giant pool of jelly. She was Buffy jelly now.

She forced herself to take a step back and regain some clarity, ignoring how fast her blood was rushing through her body and how Spike seemed to pick up on that.

“Why did Billy Ford show up at your home?” Buffy’s eyes slowly widened. “Oh my god. What did you do with him? Did you kill him?”

Spike snorted derisively and pushed off the railing. “Keep your knickers on. Only frightened the boy. Dru has him brushing her dollies’ hair.” He wandered around her living room, picking up bits and bobs or a piece of décor her mother had laid out. Buffy followed after him and snatched away a particular picture frame that had her in pigtails.

“God, you’re like a kid who can’t sit still,” Buffy glowered as she held the frame out of reach from him. “Who’s Dru?”

“Look at that, pint-sized Buffy! Bloody adorable, you were.” Spike followed her movements as she replaced the frame back on the mantle.

“Point. You. Get back to it.” Buffy fixed him with a glare. “You came all this way to talk to me, didn’t you? We’re breaking an awful lot of rules, here.”

“What rules? Don’t remember agreeing to any rule except the one we spoke of last.”

“You know.” Buffy shrugged, looking away. “Unspoken rules. We keep things outside. We keep it neutral. We don’t show up at each other’s homes offering valuable information…” The questions from that morning rang in Buffy’s ears again, and she looked at Spike with a frown. “Are you—why are you telling me any of this, anyway?”

Spike looked her over, lingering on her face. “Wanted to see if you were alright.”

Buffy’s mouth parted. “I…why wouldn’t I be?”

Spike folded his arms over his chest, jaw ticking. “Boy offered me a trade. He’d hand you over to me, if in turn I made him a vampire.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Like I said, pet.” Spike moved closer, lifting a lock of her hair and twirling it between his fingers, distracting her thoroughly. “You really ought to pick better pals to keep in your corner.”

Buffy frowned and looked away, and Spike’s hand dropped to his side. “Yeah. Gotta add that to the slayer handbook.” Buffy took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly before focusing back on Spike. He was staring at her with an unreadable expression. “Why does he want to become a vampire?”

Spike shrugged. “Boy’s sickly. Terminal, even. He thinks being a demon is the ultimate fix.”

Buffy wrestled with two modes of thought at that. A first, instinctual wave of sadness and regret washed through her, for an old friend who she now knew was dying. The second, somewhat louder and prevailing thought, was unmitigated anger that that very friend would trade her for being a demon. Callously, as if she’d meant nothing. As if all of life meant nothing at all.

She didn’t know how Ford had figured out she was the Slayer. She didn’t know how he knew about Spike or where to find him. The lance of betrayal cut deeply, and it must have showed on her face for in the next second Spike lifted his hand to hesitantly run his fingers along her arm, past her elbow and up to her shoulder.

“And you?” Buffy asked. Spike frowned, his hand stilling on her arm. “Do you think being a demon is the ultimate fix?”

A shadow crossed over Spike’s face, and his expression closed off. “No.”

Buffy was shocked at the strength behind his tone. There was no room for question or argument; he meant it.

“Good,” said Buffy softly.

Silence stretched between them. Buffy was the first to look away. “I don’t know what to do about this,” she admitted. “He was my friend.”

“So was Brutus, pet. You don’t see Caesar praisin’ him anymore.”

“Ford’s just going to get someone else to turn him if you let him go.” Buffy shook her head. “I’ll have to talk to him.”

“And what, try reasoning with him? Anyone who seeks his death by a vampire is past saving, love. And this wanker has a death wish to top it.”

“I have to do  _something_.” Buffy’s voice shook. She pressed her lips together, fighting off a tremble.

Spike gave her a long, indecipherable look. Then suddenly he asked, “You got a bathroom, Slayer?”

Buffy froze. “What?”

“A bathroom. Posh house like this, you ought to have some kind of restroom, yeah?”

“I—yeah, upstairs. What—”

Spike ignored her and bound to the staircase, leaving Buffy gaping after him. “Hey!”

He took two steps at a time, reaching the top of the stairs with his duster flaring behind him. “Mm, that looks like Mum’s room,  _there’s_ that bathroom…this must be your room, Slayer.” He flashed a knowing smirk before disappearing inside.

Buffy crossed the hall and yanked open her bedroom door, gasping. “Put that down.”

“‘Dear diary,’” Spike affected a girly voice as he held the diary out of reach, chuckling at her attempt to swipe it from him. “‘I met an uber hunk of a vampire and now all I want is to make sweet,  _sweet love_  to him’—”

“I did  _not_  write that,” Buffy hissed, finally grabbing the book and tucking it back under her bed.

“Thought it though, I’m sure.”

“In your dreams.”

“Mmm. Do a lot of things in my dreams.” Spike’s gaze traveled around her room, and Buffy suddenly felt self-conscious.

“Privacy is a thing, you know.” She moved to stand in front of him to regain his attention, her back to her dresser. “We need to talk.”

“Thought we already did that downstairs?”

“I’m serious. There’s stuff I still need to clear between us. Important things.” Spike picked up a pen and Buffy took it back, a smile cutting through her exasperation. “Could you stand still and just listen for a sec?”

Spike huffed and forced himself to stand still. For all of five seconds. “Right.”

“So, I’ve been doing some thinking.” His eyes flickered away from her and went to her dresser, her closet, the little stack of textbooks on her desk. He moved around her to open a dresser drawer and Buffy slapped his hand back.

“Dangerous pastime, pet.” He grinned as his hand shot around to her other side, reaching for the drawer there and snapping it open. “Oooh, makeup. I see that eyeliner and mascara you were going on about on Halloween.”

“Spike,” Buffy said exasperatedly, closing the makeup drawer as Spike tried reaching around her for another one. She couldn’t believe how easily distractible Spike was. How had he survived this long? “You are being a butthead.”

“Ooh, sharp words from the school girl,” Spike taunted.

“Ugh, Sp— _eee_!” Buffy batted his hands away as they took alternate turns to tickle her, a brush against her ribs, her tummy, her waist. She couldn’t stop the giggles that spilled from her lips as he tried pinching her ass, making her jerk away. “Quit it, you weirdo!” Buffy grinned and pushed Spike’s shoulders back, making him chuckle. She pouted when he barely moved—if anything, it made him shift that much closer.

Spike’s gaze narrowed onto her mouth. “Ah, pet. Look at that lip.” He ran his thumb gently across her lower lip, making her shiver. “Can’t expect a bloke to do anything when it’s pouty like that.” His voice was low, igniting her insides as their bodies nearly pressed together. She could smell the scent of soap and cigarette smoke lingering on him.

“Spike,” Buffy said quietly.

“Slayer,” Spike replied, half teasing, half something else as his gaze bore through hers. A wicked little smile lifted the corner of his mouth and his hand shot out one more time, grabbing the knob to the drawer that had all her underwear. The move flattened him against her with her back pushed against the dresser, her hand clamped tightly around his where it held the drawer knob.

Her breathing turned shallow. His grip loosened on the knob and he turned his hand, running the tips of his fingers against her palm in a soft, gentle caress. She felt his breath on her skin when their foreheads touched, his eyes nearly completely dark as he gazed through her own.  

“Buffy.” Spike said it so quietly she almost didn’t hear him, just a faint brush of air against her lips.

Her eyes shuttered when their lips met, and the aching softness of his mouth made her let out quiet moan.

The small sound spurned Spike to life, breathing her in and firmly pressing his mouth against hers, molding her body against his. His hands slid down her waist as she arched up into him, fingers desperately clinging to his shoulders, up his neck, diving into his hair. He kissed her hard and relentlessly and Buffy needed so, so more.

She let out a squeak of surprise when he grabbed her by the hips and roughly sat her up on the dresser, sending bottles clattering to the ground, and gasping when his hands fell to the back of her knees and yanked her against him. A spark flared through her body where their hips met, warm and spreading from the tips of her toes to the ends of her fingertips. Just like the last time they were in this position, Buffy’s body moved instinctively against him, relishing when Spike moaned into her mouth.

His hands moved down to gather the hem of her skirt and pushed it slowly up, fingers skimming the outside of her thighs. She shifted a little automatically, letting the skirt ride up until his thumbs were resting on her hip bones making small little circles. A needy little moan came from her throat and she pulled him impossibly close. “This needs to go,” Buffy panted, shoving the duster off his shoulders.

Spike nodded rapidly and made quick work of shrugging out of the duster before pulling her close again, kissing down her throat and nipping at the delicate skin behind her ear. “So bloody beautiful,” Spike murmured, his breath tickling her neck as he planted an open-mouthed kiss there. Buffy hummed and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, unconsciously wrapping her legs around him.

The next thing Buffy knew she was being lifted from the dresser and then staring up at the ceiling, her back hitting the bed with a small thump. Spike leaned over her, smiling so widely she felt her heart flutter in her chest.

“There now, that’s more comfy, yeah?” Spike said softly, dipping his head to kiss her.

“Yeah,” Buffy breathed against his lips when they separated.

“You’re so beautiful, you don’t even know. An’ fun. God, you’re fun.” He kissed her again, and again, small little pecks that had Buffy giggling against his mouth.

“You’re making me laugh.” Buffy squirmed a little as Spike’s kisses landed on her cheek, her jaw, her hair.

“That’s a good thing,” Spike mumbled against her chest, breathing her in. Buffy briefly wished she had refreshed her perfume before he showed up, or gotten to shower a little earlier than usual. He’d caught her off guard and now all these little thoughts were popping up in her head, making her second guess what she was doing.

He must have felt her tense up. Spike moved his head back slightly and looked down at her. “What’s wrong?”

Buffy flashed a little smile. “Nothing.”

“Felt that,” Spike replied, glancing at her chest where her heart lay underneath. “Liar.”

“It’s nothing. Really. Come back with the smoochies.” He didn’t budge when she tried bringing his head back down. Buffy rolled her eyes. “Seriously,  _now_ you decide to stop and listen to me?”

“Now, it’s important,” Spike said plainly, rolling off of her. He propped his head on his hand and faced her, and Buffy moved to face him too.

“What I wanted to talk about was important too,” Buffy scowled.

She was surprised when Spike’s eyelids nearly fluttered. “Pet, you keep that lip out and none of it will matter in the end.”

Buffy’s scowl deepened. “Whatever, this works too I guess.” She sighed. “The thing is, you’re a vampire.”

Spike’s mouth curled in a mocking little smirk. “Yeah, pet, I know. That’s the second time today someone’s told me what I already know about myself.”

“You’re a vampire,” Buffy repeated, ignoring his retort. She licked her lips nervously. “We have…this thing. That we want to do, and it’s fun, a-and I like it.”

Spike’s expression softened. “Yeah. Know that too. Really like it, actually.”

“And…it’s weird. This is weird, you know that right? Us doing this is pretty bad.” That was probably the wrong way to say it, because Spike’s eyes flared with heat.

“Oh yeah, baby. It’s  _real_  bad.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her throat, scraping her skin lightly with his teeth. Buffy suppressed a shiver.

“See, the thing is…” Buffy’s eyes flickered behind her eyelids when his hand slowly crept up under her blouse, and caressed the smooth skin of her stomach. “Th…the thing is, you…hmm…”

“I…?” Spike’s voice held a teasing lilt, but Buffy couldn’t think. His thumb was making a circuit around her belly button before brushing a little lower. She wanted to shove his hand down her skirt.

“You eat people,” Buffy finally got out, and Spike’s ridiculous, annoying, always smirky mouth just smiled even more.

“Mmmm. Only one thing I wanna eat now, Slayer.” He met her eyes as his hand slipped from her blouse to stroke her thigh. A rush of wetness pooled between her legs, and she clamped his wandering hand between her thighs before it could go up further.

Spike pouted.  _Wow. He looks even yummier like that._  Buffy went on, “People are getting hurt because I won’t slay you. And—and I can’t do this  _thing_  that we’re doing, in good conscience if you’re killing or eating or whatever it is you’re doing here in Sunnydale.”

Spike finally seemed to be listening. He frowned at Buffy and withdrew his trapped hand. “What is it you’re saying, Slayer?”

Buffy swallowed hard. “I’m saying, until that ‘later’ day comes for us, you can’t eat anyone. Ever.”

Spike scoffed and sat up. “Dunno if you’re privy to this, Slayer, but my diet  _is_ people. Can’t change my nature for you, and don’t ever plan to.”

Buffy sat up too, glaring. “Killing someone every day for dinner isn’t acceptable, Spike.”

“Are you daft? Sunnyhell may be the hellmouth but we’d still attract a hell of a lot of attention if every night, every single vampire in the city was killing who they ate.”

“What are you talking about?”

Spike looked at her incredulously. “If we killed every single person we fed from, we’d leave cities to dust. Goodbye happy meals on legs.” He snorted. “No, Slayer, you’re thinking of fledges. Older vamps know not to kill every sodding night—keeps us out of attention. Keeps the circle of bleeding life going, boys and girls making more rotten boys and girls.”

“Fine, you have an on-and-off kill system,” Buffy snapped. “It doesn’t change that you still kill. I’m not going to let you do that while you’re here, Spike. I don’t care what this is between us. The feeding and the killing stops now.”

“Or what?” Spike challenged.

“Or later becomes very much  _now_.”

Spike barked out a laugh and stood up, shaking his head at her mirthlessly. “What shall I eat then, love? Shall I dine on the fine selection of gourmet squirrels scampering around? You are seriously off your bird if you think I’m going to do that.”

“You’re hurting people if you don’t.”

“So?”

Buffy’s lower lip trembled before she bit it down. “That hurts me. And that’ll force me hurt you. I don’t want to do that.”

Spike opened his mouth, a retort ready on his lips, but something held him back. He looked at Buffy for a long moment. His arms were crossed and he was glaring at her like he would like nothing more than to throttle her where she sat.

Then, with a loud groan that turned into a shout at the ceiling, Spike whirled around and growled, “You bitch. I hate you, you know? I wanna rip you apart and make a belt of your entrails.” He advanced on the bed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like me sinking my teeth into you and tearing you up? Bloody well would deserve it.”

Buffy sorted past the violent words and focused on the conflicted agony on his face. God…he was actually considering it. Considering Buffy’s demands. She hadn’t seriously thought he would do it, but there’d been a dim glimmer of hope that maybe, he might. Everything she’d been trained to accept as true for demons and vampires ended up turned on its head when it concerned Spike. He kept breaking the mold, kept pushing boundaries and gleefully jumping over of them. And she  _felt_ something because of it. God help her, she did. It went beyond wanting him.

It was terrifying, and she was terrified now. Buffy swallowed. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached for Spike’s hand. “Do you…does that mean you’ll…?”

He let her pull him back down on the bed. “I hate you,” Spike said again, sulkily.

“I know.”

“I’m not eating sodding squirrels or geckos or whatever the fuck run around in California.”

“That’s fine.”

“I really hate you.”

“I know.”

Spike glared at her, furious. “I don’t, really.”

Buffy’s mouth twitched and she smiled a little. “I figured.”

Spike let out an unnecessary sigh and let himself fall backwards on the bed, staring moodily at the ceiling. Carefully, Buffy curled around him, propped on an elbow as she peered down at his face. Spike refused to look at her.

She dropped a soft kiss on the wrinkle between his eyebrows. The wrinkle disappeared when she pulled back. Instead, she found Spike staring at her mutinously. “There’s a blood bank nearby that gets rid of expiring blood at the end of each week.”

“Sod off.”

Buffy kissed each eyelid, pressing a slow kiss to his forehead as she stroked his jaw. Spike’s lips parted when she lightly bit his scarred eyebrow. “I can get it for you, if you want.”

He scoffed, turning his head away. “Like I give a bloody damn.”

Buffy pressed her mouth to his cheek, sweet kiss after sweet kiss, touching every inch of skin that her lips skated past. She felt him exhale slowly as her hand caressed down the navy blue front of his sweater. “There’s also snacks. Blood from the butcher’s?”

Spike growled. “No dice, Slayer.”

“It’ll be fresh?”

“ _No_.”

Buffy’s lips trailed down his throat. “And then there’s me. Whenever you want.” A harsh breath left Spike’s mouth, and slowly his hand rose up to rest on her arm. Smiling a little, Buffy’s mouth fastened on the nape of his neck, nipping and licking his skin.

A shudder went through Spike’s body and he groaned weakly, writhing against her. Buffy gasped when Spike suddenly flipped them over, his pelvis digging into hers with a telltale bulge. “An all-you-can-eat Buffy buffet?” Spike leered down at her, watching as Buffy’s breath hitched when he ground against her clit. He did it again, making a rhythm of it that sent her body throbbing with need, and Buffy’s hands scrambled to hold onto his arms as she arched up.

“I offered, didn’t I?” Buffy said breathlessly.

“You did. You’ve got yourself a deal, Slayer.” Spike finally kissed her then, hard and unforgiving and thoroughly blowing her mind. She whimpered when he rolled his hips in time with the tease of his tongue, pressing her into the mattress. With a final bite along her lower lip and a soothing swipe of his tongue, Spike pulled back to look at Buffy. He smiled. “Whenever starts now.”

Spike started for her skirt and Buffy lifted her hips, helping him wriggle her out of it. She grinned at the faraway look he got just staring at her like that, blouse askew and plain cotton panties hugging her hips. She twisted her hips a bit and that snapped him out of it. His teeth grazed his lower lip as he grabbed the edge of her blouse, and then—

“Hey!” The blouse was shredded. Two pieces, one in each undead hand. Buffy glowered. “I liked that shirt.”

Spike shrugged carelessly, tossing the fabric aside. “Evil.” He leaned down, whispering against the shell of her ear, “And don’t you fucking forget it.”

When he leaned back, Buffy reached up and ripped his shirt off into pieces.

Spike stared at her, jaw dropped. Buffy looked him in the eye as she balled up the torn fabric up and threw it in the wastebasket across the room.

Spike started laughing. “You are so damn cute. I love this.  _Love_ it. C’mere, baby,” Spike hauled her up and kissed her deeply, still smiling against her mouth. “C’mere, love.” Their mouths met again and again, Spike pulling her closer and tighter against his body as they knelt on the mattress. His hands wandered over her body in places he knew would make her gasp, would make her squirm against him. He walked her backwards before pushing her down, settling Buffy against the pillows.

“This a bow?” Spike nipped at the tiny blue bow at the bottom center of her bra.

“It’s pretty.” Buffy ran her fingers through his disheveled hair.

He bit her nipple through the fabric and Buffy gasped, arching into his mouth. The bra did not end up in the casualty list, thankfully, and landed safely atop her skirt. She could see the warring thoughts in Spike’s head as he licked and nipped her skin, setting her alight—she could tell he wanted to explore every inch of her, but he wanted to do what was next more. So much more, and Buffy swallowed hard.

“You’re, um—are you sure you want to do that?”

Spike’s brows furrowed as he slid Buffy’s panties down her legs. He paused, letting them hang on her ankles. “There’s that look again from before. What’s on your mind, Slayer?”

She was being so silly. Nervous and shaky and silly. “Nothing,” Buffy shook it off with a smile.

“No, it’s not nothing. I’m not gonna do something you don’t want me to, Buffy.”

“No, it really  _is_ nothing. It’s me being thinky, and I can’t help it. Seriously, I’m fine,” Buffy pleaded.

Spike watched her silently. Then, with a silken grace she did not possess, he slid along the side of her body and moved her chin to face him. “Don’t seem to recall telling you not to have those thoughts, pet. Matter of fact, I prefer knowing what’s running through your head, especially now.”

Buffy kicked off the panties dangling on her ankles and sighed. Biting her lip, she snuck a glance at Spike. He was watching her, waiting. Not a single judgy, expectant bone in his body. He wasn’t even staring at her with lust now. Just...waiting.

Buffy took in a breath and shrugged. “I don’t know. Just nerves, I guess.”

Spike tilted his head a little. “We don’t have to do anything. Don’t have to have to jump each other every time we see each other like we have been. It’s—it’s more than just that. You feel that, don’t you?”

“I do. And I do—want to do things. With you. Just…” Her nails scratched gently at his chest, marveling at how smooth his skin was. “This is new and different and there’s a lot of things that keep popping in my head.”

“Like what?”

“Like, silly things. Do I smell okay? Will I catch a look on your face if you don’t like something about—about me? Am I doing this right? I didn’t shave last night and I wore a skirt but I knew no one would be up close and personal and I didn’t need to care but, do I need to care now?”

Spike listened to her fervent rant until she finished. Buffy looked at him nervously as Spike sat up a bit.

“Right. Let’s get something straight.” He held up his pinky. “I don’t give a fig about how you look or smell or feel. All of you is bloody gorgeous—any sod who tries convincing you otherwise shouldn’t be sharing a bed with you.” Next, his ring finger. “The only thing that should be on your mind when we’re together is if you like what I’m doin’ to you. That’s it.” Buffy swallowed hard at the thought. “’S all that matters. You don’t like what I’m doing? Tell me ’til I get it right.” He held up his hand. “How many is that, Slayer?”

Buffy bit her lip. “Two.”

“Two. That’s it. That’s all there is. Easy to remember, yeah? Everything we do together when we’re like this is to feel good. Feel pleasure. There’s trust.” He bumped his nose against hers. “You trust me to make you feel good, Buffy?”

She swallowed hard, then nodded. A bright, dizzying smile spread on Spike’s face. “Let me prove it to you.”

Buffy watched as Spike slid down her body, running his hands in gentle sweeps across her thighs. He kissed her breasts, her navel, pausing at her hip bone to give it a nip. His mouth pressed kisses to her left thigh then her right, until he shifted her legs apart and opening her up before him. “God, Buffy,” Spike’s voice shook a little with disbelief. “You’re so pretty.”

Buffy smiled. She didn’t think that part of her would ever be called that, never considered it before now, but the intent focus she saw on Spike’s face as he kissed her inner thigh had her readjusting that particular worldview.

He kissed her mound, sending a shiver up her spine. Spike glanced up, eyes half-lidded and smiling. “It’s so smooth. Never felt that before.” His lips touched her mound again, licking the bare skin with one little flick. “Soft, too. Cor, this’ll do me in. Death by pussy-licking.”

Buffy both recoiled and laughed, making him smile again. “Is that even possible?”

Spike shrugged. “Suppose it could be if you don’t breathe. Good thing that little problem won’t apply here, yeah?”

At the first slide of his tongue along her slit, Buffy’s hips jerked and she let out a strangled gasp. “Oh my god. That. Do that again.”

”Yeah?”

”I liked that. Holy cow.”

She felt him smile against her and he did as he was told, tongue sliding through her outer lips and licking up the wetness gathered there. The sharp intensity of it had her legs jerk up and close around his head, making him chuckle as he firmly pressed them back down. “You like that, baby?” he asked, licking her skin.

Buffy stifled a gasp. “Yes…”

“How about this?” Spike’s tongue flicked her clit.

“ _Ohh_ , yes…”

“Feels good?”

Buffy nodded quickly, whimpering when he licked and kissed her clit. She cried out when he rolled his tongue around her, strong hands keeping her hips from bucking as pleasure fanned throughout her body. Wetness seeped out of her and Spike released one leg to slide a finger along her entrance, circling the juices gathered there slowly. “So bloody warm,” Spike marveled, sinking a finger inside her and making Buffy moan. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

“Oh my god, Spike.” A tremor ran through her when his mouth rejoined the rhythm set by his hand, swirling and sucking the little nub as he thrust two fingers inside her.

“Like that, love? Like what I do to you? Tell me you do,” Spike panted against her skin as his fingers curled insistently inside her, finding the bit of flesh that had her gasping and bucking and shrieking when he joined his hand by sucking on her clit.

“Yes, yes! I—oh—I like— _oh! Oh!_ ” Her gasps rose higher in pitch as his hands and mouth worked together in tandem, spiraling her higher and higher until she tensed against a thread of release. She writhed against him, shuddering uncontrollably, until a final sucking swirl of his tongue and a curl of his fingers set her off, coming hard on his hand and tongue.

Spike kissed her lower lips softly, gently, slowing his fingers to a stop until Buffy went limp. Her thighs shook around him, tiny shocks of pleasure making her gasp as they came.

When Buffy opened her eyes, Spike was peering down at her. “Well?” he asked, smirking. “How’d I do?”

“Full marks. Pass with flying colors.” Spike buried his head in her shoulder, laughing quietly. “But I think we need a third rule.”

Spike pulled back and looked at her curiously. Buffy grinned. “Again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut's Ahoy!  
> So, I had to cut this chapter in half. It was getting ridiculous, guys. These two losers just wouldn’t stop talking. Did anyone notice the amount of talking? That was all them. They don't listen to me. Needless to say, my projected estimation of 5 total chapters of this fic is now blown to dust. I doubt anyone’s going to miss it ;)
> 
> The beautiful sunshine fairy cupcake OffYourBird made a beautiful banner for this fic! Thank you my lovely!!! You'll never get rid of me now. 
> 
> Lastly, I've had some questions and worries over the Angel/Angelus transformation. Guys. I promise you I'ma do you right. It's going to be great, and not at all your typical dramafest slash spuffy coitus interruptus. In fact....I think you'll quite like it. (winks)
> 
> Until chapter 4! xx


	4. Don't Talk To Me ABout Love

**Chapter 4:**  Don’t Talk To Me About Love

AKA: And It Was Going So Well

**-:-**

She was still a little breathless, her pounding heartbeat just starting to slow as their mouths moved languidly together. He could feel tremors running through her body from where his hand was buried between her thighs, muscles spasming in short, little jolts around his fingers as they continued moving slowly inside her.

How long had they been snogging now? An hour? Two? He didn’t want it to stop. He wanted every puff of her breath that gasped against his mouth, every whimper swallowed by his tongue. He drew out her pleasure, craving that breathlessness from her. Wanting her thighs quivering and trembling around his hand as long as he could get them to.

Buffy was the one to finally draw away, desperately gasping for breath. Spike raptly absorbed the image she made before him; rosy and swollen lips, shaking chest, and eyes wide and darkened with desire. His girl was a right picture.

He tried kissing her again but Buffy tilted her head away, exhaling a small laugh. “Breathe, need to breathe!”

“Humans,” Spike chided, pressing his lips to her throat instead. Her skin was colored with lovely little love bites that she definitely wouldn’t be pleased with when she looked in the mirror. Wasn’t like he’d tried hiding what he was doing, though. He’d done them right in front of her after all. The sight of them had him smirking all the same.

Spike withdrew his fingers and Buffy made a soft noise of complaint. She shifted her thighs uncomfortably, craning her neck to see what his attentions to her body had resulted in. Buffy glanced at Spike sheepishly. “We made a mess.”

Spike shrugged, unconcerned. “That means it was good.” He sucked his fingers absently and groaned. “God, the taste of you…” Without giving a second thought to what he was doing, Spike’s free hand slid beneath the waistline of his jeans and gave his cock an idle stroke.

He heard a soft, quick inhale. Spike’s eyes opened and found Buffy’s eyes drawn to the slow movement of his hand. When she realized he was watching her, she froze on the spot.

“Like what you see?” Spike smirked, giving another stroke.

 “Maybe.” Buffy glanced away, then glanced back. He could see a faint trace of nerves again in the stiff way she held herself up on her elbow, but staring all the same. That, and natural curiosity. “I thought…”

“Yes?”

Buffy shook her head. “Nothing.”

Spike’s eyebrow rose lazily. “Now you know how we feel about that word, pet.”

Buffy sighed, conceding his point. “I’ve wondered, you know, with what we’ve been doing…and what happened last time, if you…” Her eyes flickered down again before quickly returning to his eyes expectantly.

Spike let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, pet, o’ course I have.”

“Oh.”

Her expression was indecipherable, so Spike leaned closer to her and murmured, “Why would I not want to? After what we did that night, in the closet—hot, wriggly Slayer in my arms, coming around my fingers?” The red in Buffy’s cheeks had his demon yearning for it to stain his own mouth—his lips--his teeth. Spike nudged her chin up to look at him. “Getting home and your scent all over me, through me? Of course I got myself off.”

“Oh,” Buffy repeated, somewhat unsteadily. She focused again on the movement of his hand behind his jeans.

He touched the tip of his tongue against his teeth. “You can touch if you like.”

Spike waited, watching for her reaction. Buffy licked her lips and shifted a little closer. “Um…”

Her skittishness, despite what they’d done not moments ago, fascinated him. The demon was interested too. There were so many questions—was this a human thing? A young thing? A young human thing? Was it Buffy—was it a combination of it all? Bugger if it mattered; Spike wanted it anyway. He’d see this through. Maybe Dru had been right after all.

The tension in her body, however, would not do. Spike reared his head back a little, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t know what it looks like, then?”

Buffy’s attention snapped to his and Spike fought off a smile at the fire in her eyes. “Of course I know what it looks like!”

“Just checking, no need to get touchy,” Spike smirked, eyes gleaming.

“Why not? Maybe I want to get touchy.”

“Oh pet,” Spike’s words rolled sinuously off his tongue like spun sugar, “you can touch whatever you want.”

A spark lit up her eyes. Spike tilted his head as she hesitated once again, and lowered his voice just a little. “Or you can watch.”

Buffy’s eyes flickered up to his.  _There_. Spike shifted his hips and moved his jeans lower, slowly undoing the zip all the way with the belt unbuckled. Buffy’s eyes zeroed in on his hand already wrapped around his cock and Spike couldn’t help but look too. Truthfully he hadn’t planned having a wank like this in front of her, but with her captivated attention and this new—god, he loved saying that—discovery of their intimacy, Hell itself couldn’t stop him.

“Oh.” Buffy watched his hand move slowly up and down, her breath turning shallow. “Oh, wow.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmm.” She reached out hesitantly, her eyes flickering uncertainly to his again. He nodded, encouraging, and Buffy carefully ran her thumb along his slit.

The little jolt of pleasure from just that bit of contact had Spike’s eyes shuttering, making a quiet sound in the back of his throat. Buffy glanced up at him worriedly. “’S good, pet,” said Spike, trying not to get too breathless and excited that Buffy was actually, seriously doing this with him. “Can do more’n that, if you like.”

When she saw there wasn’t a deceptive look or a hint of making fun of her, Buffy relaxed. She did it again, this time swirling her thumb and experimentally closing her fingers around the head. Spike let out a moan and arched his hips a little, taking an unsteady breath. Buffy watched this and a slow smile spread on her face.

“Oh I can do way more.” She leaned close and kissed him, biting his lip and rolling her tongue against the roof of his mouth and making him groan. When she pulled away both of their eyes were glazed, and Buffy said, “Show me.”

Spike swallowed hard when she placed her hand on top of his, wrapping around his erection. When he squeezed, she squeezed with him. Ever so slowly, Spike moved their hands together over his cock, twisting a little at the end that made him gasp, all the while Buffy watched him intently. She was fascinated, absorbing what she saw as if he were the only person in her world. There was something novel about that. Doing this with her,  _feeling_ this with her.

With each stroke of their entwined hands her shyness disappeared, and Spike whispered hoarsely, “Squeeze harder, pet. Just like that. Won’t hurt me one bit, just— _fuck_.” His breath stuttered when Buffy took control, squeezing tighter around him and moving just a little bit faster. His hand fell away as Buffy took over, leaving his body ringing with pleasure. His gaze flickered between sight of her hand on him, stroking him surely, and the hazel eyes fixed on his cock, her breasts moving with each jerk of her hand.

Spike groaned and kissed her fiercely, eventually dropping his head to her shoulder. “Buffy…”

She curled the fingers of her free hand in his hair and brought his head up to kiss him again. His breath came out in a fervent staccato and Spike growled, “ _Buffy_ , love, I’m close. I’m...”

He wasn’t sure if it was meant to warn her or to encourage her, but Buffy decided all the same. A squeeze, a swirl, and Buffy’s eyes determinedly never leaving his had him coming with a loud moan and deep, trembling shudder.

Groaning, Spike fell limp against the mattress. He panted hard and squeezed his eyes shut as her hand loosened around him, lightly swiping up his spendings in another bout of her curiosity. When he finally opened his eyes he found her staring at her hand, then at his flagging hard-on. Buffy looked up at met his stare with a warm smile.

A litany of words threatened to spill from his lips and Spike pushed them all down. He wasn’t ready for any of those words yet. He wouldn’t think of them. But his undead heart had different ideas, and right now it was desperately trying to beat again to the drum of emotions the slayer was stirring inside him. And he knew it showed on his face, whatever it was, for the next second Buffy was snuggling against him and pressing her forehead to his.

“Was it good?” she whispered, her breath tickling his face.

“Mmm. Very.” Spike kissed her brow gently. Very was an understatement. “Knew it’d be good.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Did.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to do that, you know. Make me feel better. I know I’m new to all this, you don’t have to—”

“Have to what?” Spike cut her off, starting to get annoyed. “I’m not saying a word to spare your feelings. It was good. Take the damn compliment, Slayer.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not like you knew I would be—”

“Buffy.” Spike stared at her. “I knew it would be good because it was you. It felt good because it was you doin’ it. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never done this. Why would it matter? It’s a first for both of us.” At Buffy’s snort, Spike said impatiently, “Is it not the first time we did it together?”

“Well, yes. But…”

“So, part of it this is figuring out what we like.” Spike pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “S’not me sparing your feelings. It’s me being honest. I liked it, and it’s only gonna get better. That’s just how it is.” He could see the uncertainty start to fade in her, and he knew just what to send the message home. Spike ducked his head a bit to force her to meet his eyes. “That first time in the closet versus the orgasm you just had. It got better. Yeah?” Buffy bit her lip and he could practically see where her thoughts had gone, the mental recollection of all three times he’d gotten her off.

“I…yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

Spike nodded. “It’s the same thing. I figured out what you liked. Takes a bit of practice. Good thing we’ve got plenty of time for that, eh, Slayer?”

A sultry little smile curled on Buffy’s lips, her earlier doubt now long forgotten. “Practice and perfection is part of the job description of Slayerhood. Hours and hours of training…” She leaned in again, close enough to touch but not quite, and Spike grinned slowly.

“No time like the present.” His hand trailed down her hip and on a fast path to more hours of distraction. Buffy clamped her hand around his wrist and pulled his hand away, smiling teasingly.

“Nuh-uh, nope. No more. I’m jellified as it is and I haven’t had dinner yet. Need sustenance.”

Spike groaned and rolled onto his back as Buffy slid off the bed in search for her clothes. “Easy for you. All you gotta do is reheat leftovers. I’ve got a bleeding new diet to consider.”

“Whiner.”

Spike glared. “Should just go about as always. No one would notice a sip here and there.” At the dangerous looked that flashed across Buffy’s face, Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the dance of death and all that shit. Don’t think it’s not coming, Slayer. It will.”

“I know.” She pulled on a camisole with her skirt and faced Spike on the bed. “Until then, though, strictly kosher blood it is. Or—well, you know what I mean.”

“Could you do it?” Spike sat up slowly, adjusting his jeans and fastening his belt as he maintained eye contact with Buffy. “After? Could you really? After I’ve touched you, tasted you. Kissed every inch of you.” Buffy shifted uncomfortably. His eyes flickered over her, sensuous with hidden desire. “Once I’m inside you.”

“Somebody’s presumptuous.” Buffy glared and crossed her arms.

“It’s where this is going. It’s where it’ll continue. Maybe not today, not this year. It’ll happen—and it’s  _going_  to happen, Slayer. What then? Could you kill the person you’ve shared that with?”

Buffy looked away, mouth tightening. When her gaze returned to his, she looked at him steadily. “Could you?”

Spike laughed, a soft breath of exhalation. “Ah, pet, don’t you know? Love’s bitch hardly ever wins.” At her alarmed look, Spike scoffed. “Don’t look so pale, Slayer, not sayin’ I love you. Just telling you the pattern.” Under his breath, Spike muttered. “Another bloody reason Dru should’ve given some warning.”

Buffy frowned. “There’s that name again. Who’s Dru?”

“Drusilla,” Spike explained as he stood up. He searched through the pockets of his duster and fished out a pack of cigarettes. “My sire.”

Buffy remained quiet for a moment, fingernails tapping against her bicep. “Your sire.” Spike glanced up at the odd tone of her voice. “Your girlfriend.”

“Well, yeah. You knew I’d had one.”

“You can’t light that in here.” Buffy stared him down until Spike grumbled and popped open the window, leaning against the sill and lighting the tip of the cigarette. He blew out a puff of smoke into the night air, enjoying the lick of heat from the tempered flame coursing through his system.

He glanced at Buffy when she started rummaging through her school bag. She pulled out an old, worn book and quickly flipped through the pages. Spike shifted nervously when she went stopped on a page. She was staring at it for an awfully long time.

“Is this her?” She held up the book to him. One side of the page had an old black and white photograph of Drusilla, taken at the turn of the century. He remembered this one; they’d eaten the photographer afterwards and stolen bloodstained rolls of undeveloped film.

“Yeah,” Spike replied. Buffy’s mouth tightened. “You knew I had an ex. Halloween night, you knew. I told you.”

“When, though?”

“What?”

“When exactly did she become an ex?”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “You know when. What does it matter? Me an’ her are history.”

“Hundred and twenty years of history, according to this,” Buffy flicked a finger against the book in her hand. “Earlier you said Billy was with Drusilla playing dolls with her. She’s staying with you?”

Spike carefully blew smoke out the window, tightening his jaw. He’d lived for sodding ever, and loved and cared for one of the barmiest women on the planet; he knew a trap when he saw one.

“Why bother asking, Slayer? You’ve made your mind up to be angry. Nothing I say will help.”

Buffy snapped the book closed. “That’s where you’re wrong. You just have to be honest with me and there’ll be zero madness.”

“Fine.” Spike put out the cigarette on the window sill then tossed the butt outside. “She’s staying with me. We came to the Hellmouth together. Not an uncommon thing for vampires to travel together. And yeah, we were lovers until the night you and I met. I still love her.” Buffy flinched, and Spike ploughed on relentlessly. “That’s never changing so you better get used to it. Great love doesn’t disappear just because another story’s begun.” Spike pushed away from the window and towered over her. “Just what the hell is this about, Slayer? What is it you’re expecting of me?”

Buffy finally brought herself to look at him. He saw all her anger and vulnerability there, swimming in her unfathomably green eyes. Finally, she closed her eyes to him and pressed her lips together. “You’re right. I’m getting angry too soon. You’re allowed to have your history. We haven’t—you and I haven’t talked about what this thing between us is, yet. So…okay.”

…Well, then. That was unexpected. Spike had been prepared for a hell of a long fight from her. It threw him off. Dru would’ve drawn this out, made him come to her, beg for her. Buffy was giving him…something else. Spike let the frustration bleed away from his voice, leaving something soft and quiet behind. “Ta, pet.”

Buffy chewed on her lower lip, scraping her teeth against one corner to the other. “I think we should deal with Billy before we do anything else tonight. You said he’s at your—where are you staying, exactly?”

Spike nodded. “Up in the business district. Y’know the old abandoned factory? Dru’s got him in our bedroom.” Buffy’s amiable expression froze. Spike paused, wondering why—oh.

_Balls_.

“Your…you still share a room with her?” Buffy asked.

Spike’s mind backtracked, but there was nowhere to go but forward. He’d walked himself right into this one—and right when Buffy had gotten past the history thing. Bloody hell. “Well…”

She nodded slowly. “You still sleep in the same bed together.”

Spike winced internally, but drew enough of his frustration to snap back, “Didn’t we just go over this part? She’s my sire, we’ve known each other for over a hundred bloody years. Being in the same room and sleeping next to her—it doesn’t matter.”

He knew it was the wrong thing to say when he said it, but damn it, it’s how he felt. He’d slept beside Dru for decades.  _Decades_. So what if he wasn’t her lover anymore? It was bloody habit being around her. Wasn’t like he was about to jump her frail bones any time soon, not that he had since Prague anyway. Point was, none of that mattered when it came to Buffy. This thing between them was something nothing like what he had with Dru. He tried again: “The thing is, Slayer, it’s  _normal_.”

In the span of a second Buffy’s expression went from glacial to murderous. Buffy spun around and snatched a jacket out of her closet, shoving her arms inside. He watched her slide a stake behind her back and grab a pair of worn boots and stuffed her feet in, sans socks.

“We going now, then?” Spike asked.

“ _I’m_ going. You can do whatever you want.” Buffy was already out the door and Spike took in a long, irritated breath. Snatching his duster, Spike sprinted down the staircase and caught up with her. He shoved himself between Buffy and the door.

Buffy scowled up at him. “Move.”

“You’re not staking Dru.”

Buffy’s eyes widened a fraction before settling back into steel armor. “Is that what I’m doing?”

Spike growled, “I didn’t come here and tell you where I live so you can kill my sire. She has nothing to do with us.”

Buffy’s jaw clenched. Hell, but she was furious. He could practically smell the rage burning through her and if he weren’t already livid himself, he would’ve been marveling at how utterly, devastatingly beautiful she was like this.

“I’m going for Billy. I’ll stake whoever gets in my way.” Spike’s demon roared at those words and his demon face dropped instantly, snarling around his fangs. He had to give the girl credit—even like this, inside her home with a vampire inches from her, she didn’t flinch. “I hadn’t planned on killing your girlfriend, but I’m tickled I got to see this particular brand of macho display.”

She pushed past him and slammed the door behind her. It took Spike a few moments to calm down and as he absorbed her words, he shouted, “Ex-girlfriend, you bint!”

**-:-**

In all honesty, Buffy had perspective on this.

She knew that, in his defense, they hadn’t established what their relationship was. It was something new, something volatile, and something they both, without any true justification or reason, wanted desperately to continue.

They hadn’t spelled out the parameters of this…thing. Tryst? Was this trysty? That implied there was an impermanence to what they were doing, and as far as Buffy knew, she wanted to explore this for the foreseeable…for…

She wanted to explore this.

So did she really blame him? Not so much.  _Tiger Beat_  had warned her about this in last year’s February issue— _Spell out your relationship before you get hurt!_  For all either of them knew, this was some casual, fun…thing. He didn’t owe her anything and vice versa.

She  _knew_ all of this. She did. But there were only so many things she could process at once. Spike’s sire had been his girlfriend? Okay. He’d been with her for over a century? Wow, but okay. He still loved her, and always would? …Alright. Makes sense; it was his first love. She was living with him? They shared a bedroom? They shared a bed together, every day? Just how much of an  _ex_  was this ex-girlfriend?

It didn’t help whatsoever that the picture provided for Drusilla in Giles’s textbook was one so breathtaking that a stab of jealousy had run through Buffy immediately.

And fine, yes, maybe a tiny part of her could still overlook all of this, given that yet again they hadn’t defined the parameters of their relationship; she hadn’t deigned to make any of this exclusive and neither had he. 

But the way he had said it…Buffy’s jaw hardened. Dismissing it. Dismissing  _her!_  Calling it ‘normal’ and implying that this was the way it would always be; that there was no reason for her to find any of it strange...Buffy grated her teeth. Clearly Drusilla was her own entity and any kind of relationship with Spike inevitably included an annotated footnote labeled  _Drusilla, The_  (1880).

The finality of Spike’s words, the permanence, topped with the verbal equivalent of a post-orgasmic brush off, was enough to piss Buffy off. The best part, of course,  _the best part_  was that Buffy must be so jealous and vapid that naturally the  _only_  thing she’d do next was murder Spike’s Footnote! Go Buff!

“So this is the infamous Slayer strategy?” A sarcastic voice drawled behind her. “Storm into a building full of vampires, half-cocked? My oh my, this  _is_  interesting.”

“Shut up, Spike.” Buffy didn’t look at him, but paused in front of the factory all the same. Spike stopped beside her, flicking down a cigarette and mashing it under his boot.

“Walk next to me and no one’ll try to bite you. Not without my say.” He strode forward with such infuriating calm that Buffy almost ignored him. Her slayer sense of self-preservation, however, had her swallowing her pride and warily walking beside him.

Without fail, her vampire tinglies started firing nonstop the second they neared the door. Spike exchanged an unreadable look with her before shoving the door open and sauntering inside.

Even in a den of vampires under his command, Spike moved like a predator; menacing and confident, lilting and smooth. Buffy pushed back a shiver at the number of fangs that flashed at her. Her hand itched to reach for her stake but withheld—she had other things to see to first.

Without preamble, Spike dropped down his demon face and said loudly, “Anyone who tries taking a nip of the Slayer will have their head ripped off. She’s  _mine_.” A shiver finally broke through Buffy’s control, and she glanced up at Spike. He ignored her. “Are we clear?”

The vampires around them grumbled sulkily, but true to their word, they didn’t come near her. 

Spike’s human face returned as he turned to face her. “He’s just through that corridor down there. C’mon.”

Buffy steeled herself and followed him. God, what must Billy’s last few hours with Spike’s sire have been like? Was he tied up? Was he hurt, fed from? Would those things change his mind about turning himself into a vampire? As Spike led her through the hallway, Buffy found herself privately wishing that was what had happened. She had a feeling nothing Buffy had to say would sway him otherwise.

Abruptly, Spike stopped. Buffy nearly collided into him but caught herself just before smashing her face into his back, shooting him a dark look. They were stopped in front of a door, and Spike wasn’t moving.

After several moments, Buffy’s patience cracked. “Well?”

Spike gave her an odd look before opening the door. “Stay here,” he muttered.

“Like hell,” Buffy whispered harshly. The door swung fully open revealing an opulent room, rich furnishings surrounding a very large, very comfortable bed with silken sheets. Spike took a step inside and looked around, frowning.

“They’re not here.” Buffy shook her head. “We wasted too much time. Your girlfriend killed him.”

“Ex,” Spike said distractedly, sniffing the air. “And no, she didn’t.”

“Riiight. And that’s totally not a pool of blood by the vanity.”

Spike glanced at the vanity and winced. There  _was_ blood, drying fast but still undeniably blood splattered along the floor.

“That could be from anything. Still a vampire den here, innit?”

Buffy glowered at him, reaching for her stake. “I swear to god, if—”

“The boy has already left.”

A soft, melodic voice drifted from behind Buffy. She turned and saw a picture come to life—all soft brown hair and wide, knowing eyes. Drusilla.

“You shouldn’t be walking,” Spike said sternly, rushing towards Drusilla and wrapping a steadying arm around her shoulders. Buffy pressed herself against the wall as they walked through the bedroom, and Spike led Drusilla to the edge of the bed.

There was a softness in Spike’s gaze Buffy didn’t entirely recognize. She didn’t think she’d seen it before, not just in him but in…anyone, in a very long time. Suddenly all the bitterness from before clicked in relief, then dissipated. She understood. She hated it but she understood.

“Where did he go?” Buffy asked when she finally found her voice.

“Mmm. Somewhere too late.” Drusilla smiled as she tilted her chin up at Spike. “The lamb chose its slaughter, you see. No fun for princess to play with food that’s not food.”

“Too right, sweetheart.” Spike smiled softly.

Buffy supposed she should find herself frightened, standing in a room with two very old vampires. Instead, she rolled her eyes. “Great. He’s probably already dead by now if he found someone else to turn him. I’m too late.”

“Not late,” said Drusilla abruptly. Her previously airy disposition sharpened into an expression that was very much aware. “You’re just on time, my sweet. Isn’t she, Spike?”

Spike looked away uncomfortably, shifting on the bed that Buffy was now looking at in a second light. The whole room, in fact. It was her first glimpse at his life outside of what she knew of him. The room was all wood and lace and silk, with a pile of dolls made of china that sat on the vanity table. The bed that Spike shared with his sire, the room he shared with her, the wardrobe filled with their clothes combined…A stack of vinyls sat on a slant in one of the shelves, worn and faded and visibly old. It was personable, and it was them. And Buffy…well, she’d seen enough.

Without another word, Buffy left the bedroom.

**-:-**

Spike sighed as Buffy left the room. He knew his minions wouldn’t touch a hair on her head, but watching her leave still left a thread of apprehension in him.

Drusilla began humming a tune. Spike ran his left hand through his hair, tugging a bit, before resting his elbows on his knees. “Bollocks.”

“Likely,” Dru agreed, staring at the ceiling. “Which part?”

“All of it,” said Spike furiously. “I should’ve known better. Nothing this good happens to me without being ripped away. Bugger this!” He jumped up from the bed and began pacing in front of her. “Bloody women. I don’t need this. No, you listen to me Dru, I don’t need this. Where does she get off on getting angry? Who does she think she is?”

Drusilla frowned deeply, her lower lip jutting out in the way when she was genuinely getting annoyed with him. Oh, perfect. Just the thing to end the bloody night. “Don’t you start on me, Dru. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Rocks and pebbles and sand!” Drusilla hissed, standing up to level him with a glare. “I can’t sift it all for you!”

“I’m not asking you the sodding meaning of life, damn it! You—you started this mess, you know you did. Just  _look_  at what’s happened.”

He didn’t need to tell her what it was that had happened; Dru always seemed to know. She drew in a breath, shook her head, and said, “Oh, sweet. Don’t make me your Angelus.”

Spike recoiled as if slapped. He stared at Dru as she wandered away, carefully settling herself against the pillows on the bed and picking up a book. Swallowing thickly, Spike left the room. He could still vaguely catch the scent of the slayer left behind, and followed it quickly.  

Spike caught up with Buffy in a cemetery. She was battling against two vamps, both the hulking and fledge-level moronic types. Spike hung back, leaning against a tombstone as he watched the slayer fight. Her moves were quick and sharp, rolling with every punch and easily sidestepping several swings. There was raw power in the way her body moved, still unchecked and unrefined, but an unmitigated force all the same. 

When both vampires were reduced to small sprinklings of dust, Buffy said, “What do you want, Spike?”

He straightened when Buffy addressed him. Several things popped in his head for him to say, some more unsavory than others. Instead, what ended up coming out of his mouth was, “I was promised dinner in a blood bag.”

Buffy turned around, a bewildered look on her face. “Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” What the hell was he saying?

The slayer’s hands tightened into little fists. “Fine,” Buffy bit out. “Let’s go.” She walked in long strides that had Spike following after her quickly. He made it about ten steps before Buffy said, “And then later, I think I’ll go home and call up Xander. He’s my best bud, you know. Maybe we can have a sleepover and then snuggle up together in my bed, like  _normal_.”

“No you fucking won’t,” Spike snarled, grabbing her arm and yanking her to a stop.

Buffy whirled around, this time marching up to Spike until only inches separated them. “If we’re doing this, you can’t have anyone else but me.” Spike stilled. “You can’t be with anyone else except me, until we decide to stop this thing we’re doing.”

Spike nodded slowly, his earlier anger forgotten. “Okay.”

Buffy’s lips parted in surprise, clearly not expecting to win that one so fast. “Okay?”

Spike glanced down at his boots, slipping his hands in his pockets. “Never planned to see other birds on the side. Slayer. That’s not what I do.”

He could tell straight away she didn’t believe him. Spike inhaled deeply, then settled his hands on her shoulders. “I know what’s running through your head, Slayer, and none of it is true. I…this is new for me too, alright? Until two months ago I was in love with a woman I’d been with for the last century.” He lowered his voice. “Things become habit. I didn’t think twice about sharing my room and bed with someone who wasn’t a lover anymore. Sharing my space with Dru is something I’ve done my whole unlife. I…I didn’t  _think_  about it, love.”

Reluctantly, Buffy nodded. “I get it. I really do. And I didn’t mean to be Insane-o Girl who gets all huffy and puffy after three or four days together. But you  _have_  to think about it now, Spike. I’m making that line and setting that boundary.” Buffy ducked her head, taking in a shaky breath. “I’m not asking you to stop loving her. I know you two have history. I don’t even think I’m asking for love from you, I just want…I can’t do things casual like that. I just can’t.”

“This isn’t casual.”

Buffy’s head snapped up. A nameless emotion lit up in her eyes, and her voice fell into a whisper. “Yeah?”

Spike huffed. “Of course bloody yeah. I really…really don’t do this, Buffy. Wanting you made me furious because it meant everything before is done. And it’s done, Slayer, this is it. However long it is for us, you’re all I’ll have for myself.” Spike’s eyes flashed gold. “And nobody else is allowed to touch you.”

“Okay,” Buffy replied, still a little doe-eyed. “I don’t want you having a bed buddy anymore.”

“Fine. Same goes for you.”

“Fine.”

They drew closer, his hands on her hips and hers on his chest. “This isn’t normal for me,” Spike told her, curling his fingers against her hips and pulling her against his body.

“I know. Same for me.”

“No, no Slayer. You’re not seeing it. I…” Spike shook his head. “Not killing you. Wanting you. Being with you. Swearing off humans for you. Second guessing and reevaluating every bloody thing in my life, Jesus—you’re changing me Slayer, and I’m letting it happen. I don’t understand why I’m doing this. I don’t understand why.”

“I don’t know, Spike. I don’t have an answer for you,” Buffy said quietly. “I just know that it’s the same for me. Everything in my head is screaming for me to put an end to this. But the rest of me?” Buffy leaned forward, her breath caressing Spike’s lips. A warm thrill spread throughout his body at that barely there contact. “It doesn’t really care why.”

The corner of Spike’s mouth tugged into a slowly spreading grin, and he crushed his lips against hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this bit of character exploration and resolution. Until the next chapter! xx


	5. Tough As Nails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* Hello everyone! 
> 
> It's been a little over two months since I've been able to update, and for that I am so sorry. I never planned to be the author who has huge gaps in updates, but the last two months have been a flurry of moving out of my hometown, weddings (not mine, heh), and the like. But now all of that is settled and I have free time again, hooray! I'm hoping for weekly updates now for all my WIPs, fingers crossed.
> 
> We're picking up from where we left off last, with Season 2's The Dark Age in mind.

**Chapter 5:**  Tough As Nails

AKA: The Tattoo From Hell

**-:-**

Angel slipped quietly into the club, taking in the sepia lowlights and the strong scent of alcohol with a cloak of indifference. His eyes grazed over the crowd of swarming bodies, strolling quietly along edge of dancefloor. There was blood everywhere, warm and pumping and tinged with a cocktail of hormones that only a club would pique. The demon inside whined restlessly, clawing at the edges of his consciousness, eager to come out and have a taste too.

 _Give it a rest, asshole_ , Angel thought shortly. He knew better than to risk letting that particular side of him out.

And it _was_ still a risk, even now.

He slunk in the shadows, catching bits of conversation and easy laughter, when a flash of blonde hair made him pause. An unnamed feeling stirring in his chest, he crept closer.

The girl turned around, unrecognizable and laughing with her friends.

Angel closed his eyes briefly and shook away the churning in his gut. It wasn’t Buffy. It wouldn’t be Buffy, in any case; there was no lingering scent of her in the club. Any hope of running into her here was wishful thinking.

Mood quickly turning dark, Angel turned to the bar and bought a drink, settling at a table. He grimaced at the first sip, relishing the burn of alcohol down his throat.

Coming here was a mistake. Seeking out Buffy over a hunch didn’t mean he should run to her the second he had a lead—but by God, did he miss her. He had thought…had hoped…that there’d been something there between them. Before she marched to her death to the Master; before she turned to him once Xander got her breathing again, and saw her desire for him die like slow-burning embers.

He’d tried here and there to talk to her, to reconnect. Buffy had humored him for five minutes at best before heading to Los Angeles for the summer, and since then he’d been too much of a coward to try seeing her again.

He wanted to. Desperately wanted to. That taste of purpose he’d experienced when seeing Buffy, alone and crying in her bathroom just after being Called, was beginning to fade—and with it a low grade panic was settling in its place. What would he do if that guiding purpose was gone? Where did this path of his end?

They had a connection. Angel knew they did. And if she would just, just _realize_ that…

He needed her.

It itched under his skin, the instinctive urge. Thinking of it, he still had an invite to her home. How easy it would be, to climb the lofty steps to her window and, just for a moment, watch Buffy as she…

“Angel?”

Angel looked up from his drink. “Cordelia?” He glanced at the three girls standing behind her, all looking bored. “And friends.”

Cordelia spun around to the girls and said “find a table, I’ll be there in a minute” before waving them away. Cordelia flashed him a bright smile and leaned against his table. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Still dead?”

Angel blinked. “Uh, yeah.”

“That’s too bad.” Cordelia clicked her French-tipped nails on the table as she glanced around the club. “Well, if that’s all—”

“How’ve you been?” Angel blurted, swallowing the follow-up question, _how’s Buffy?_

A pencil-thin brow rose and Cordelia flipped her hair back. “Fine, no thanks to you. I never did get to tell you how horrible it was getting chased by vampires and monsters in the school a few months ago. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I didn’t actually...”

“Not to mention Parent-Teacher night completely tanking and I was stuck in a water closet with Willow all night.” She paused, looking at Angel closely. Angel shifted uncomfortably, struggling to meet her head-on gaze. “Where have you been?”

Angel peered down his drink again. “Here and there.”

“Uh huh.”

“I didn’t think anyone needed me anymore.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. Nobody needs you,” Cordelia said bluntly. Angel flinched inwardly and stared heavily into his drink. “But if that’s the way you’re gonna go about it, then I’m not surprised you’re here alone drinking cheap beer and I don’t feel a bit sorry for you. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?” Cordelia’s eyes flickered over him and Angel resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat. “The whole ‘no one understands me’ boo-hoo routine?”

“It’s rude to keep your friends waiting,” Angel said through clenched teeth. A few weeks away had softened his memory of Cordelia Chase; he made a mental note to avoid her usual spots when he was in Sunnydale.

“See? I’m right.” Cordelia smiled smugly. Angel watched gobsmacked as she pulled out a chair and sat opposite him.

She grinned and waved at her friends, mouthing that she’d be there in a minute. Angel stared at her for several seconds before blinking hard and shaking his head. “Not really looking for company right now, Cordelia.”

She shrugged. “Neither was I.”

“You came in with three friends.”

“I so did not. We just happened to convene here at the same time. Pure coincidence.”

Angel’s fingers rapped against the table, taking in a deep breath. “Look. I appreciate the…whatever this is. I’m just here for a drink and I’ll be off.” Cordelia stared at him, unblinking. He tried again, awkwardly. “It was nice seeing you.”

Cordelia wrinkled her nose. “Boy, do your people skills need work.” She slid off the chair and turned to leave.

He watched, time slowing in his mind, before he opened his mouth.

 “Wait.”

Cordelia paused, turning her head. He didn’t know why he did it, but he couldn’t stop now.

“Wait,” he repeated, holding out his hand. “That was rude. I’m sorry.” Cordelia’s eyes widened. Angel dropped his hand to the table. “You should sit. If—if you want to.” She lifted a brow. Angel sighed, breaking eye contact and staring into his drink. “You were right. I was sitting here feeling sorry for myself.”

The air shifted around him and Angel glanced up to find Cordelia sitting across from him again. She gave him a smile that was all teeth and no small amount of self-satisfaction. “Well, duh. But ‘was’ implies you aren’t sitting here feeling sorry for yourself anymore, which I hate to break it to you, but you still are.”

Angel lifted his glass drained the rest of his drink.

-:-

Spike took a slow, deep drag from the cigarette dangling from his lips, the tip glowing red. The night air was cool; soft wind rippled through the leaves hanging above where he leaned against a tree. His eyelids lowered, peering through his lashes as he stared at Buffy. He tilted his head, eyes following the motion of her flailing hands.

“—had one job. All you had to do—”

Annoyed, she was definitely annoyed. With him. Even better, that. God, the way her skin flushed pink and her breath quickened…

“—would’ve been so much faster if you’d just listened to me—”

Her eyes were…warm jade? Cypress? No, cross that. He hadn’t figured it out yet. Just _green_ was bloody insufficient, though.

Emerald, maybe?

“—gonna stand there and stare at me all night?”

He watched enraptured as Buffy’s pink tongue darted out quickly to lick her lips. He followed its movement as it slipped back behind her mouth, and it took a moment to register her frown. By then Buffy had crossed her arms, staring at him with pursed lips. Spike flicked away the cigarette.

“Don’t see what the fuss is about,” Spike pushed away from the tree and glanced down at the plastic box sitting between them. “Got the goods all the same, didn’t you?”

“No thanks to you.”

And now she was pouting. Was she trying to kill him? That pink little pout was going straight to his dick and it was all he could do to not throw her against the nearest crypt wall and…

Actually, he could still do that.

With whiplash speed Spike grabbed her elbow and yanked her against him, swallowing her little startled gasp by covering her mouth with his. Her lips were warm and soft and he pulled her even closer—

It lasted barely a second. Small hands pushed him away and Spike staggered back. “What the hell, Spike?” Buffy snapped.

Spike stared at her, surprised. “What, we banned from snogging now?”

“You can’t just shut me up like that in the middle of an argument!”

“We were arguing?”

Buffy glared firmly. “Yes.”

“Don’t seem to remember it like that. Must’ve missed it.” Spike stepped closer, hands gently circling her elbows. Her glare remained even as she let him pull her closer.

“You would, seeing as you weren’t even listening.”

When he saw she wouldn’t budge, Spike glanced upwards and sighed. “I didn’t think you needed me as backup, Slayer. And from the looks of it,” Spike lightly nudged the box of hospital blood sitting on the grass with the tip of his boot, “I was right.”

Buffy’s mouth twitched, displeased. “You’re right. I didn’t need you. But sticking to a plan we’d set would’ve been nice, especially when I wasn’t the only one trying to get a box full of hospital blood.”

Spike frowned. “You mean…”

“Other vamps in town are bagging it.”

“Other…” Anger spiked through him. Did vampirism mean anything anymore? And on the hellmouth, no less? “How many?”

“Does it matter?” she asked.

“Had a go at you, didn’t they?”

He watched as she bit down a smile. “I’m the Slayer.” Buffy’s eyes flashed imperiously as she pressed against him, tilting her head up. “I can handle a few vampires.”

God, yes _. And you can handle me, baby…_ “Be that as it may, love, I need to know if any of them were mine. Can’t have mutiny in the ranks, going after you.”

“To be fair, I sort of went after them first.” Spike was surprised when her expression turned troubled. “Oh god. What if they were…they were getting bagged blood. Which was still bad because they were stealing it from the hospital—”

“Who were going to toss them out anyway,” Spike reminded.

“—what if I killed, like….good vampires?” Spike looked at her oddly, and Buffy amended, “The not-human-killing, drinking blood from a bag kind? What if I dusted three perfectly average demons who just wanted supper in the nicest way possible, and I killed them for it?”

Spike would have laughed had Buffy not looked so genuinely distraught. He ran his fingers through her hair. “And what if they were getting a box of human blood for a blood ritual that would reign hell on earth?”

She glanced up at him, chewing her bottom lip in a way that left him more than a little mesmerized. “Well. That would be pretty bad on a general badness scale.”

“There you have it.”

“But…”

Spike tilted her chin up, peering down at her curiously. “What’s this, now? I don’t recall slayers feeling remorse for doing their job.”

Buffy sighed, tucking her arms under her chest. “They do when their current boyfriend’s wedged himself in a category that makes her—I mean, them—second guess their worldview on what merits a slaying.”

A thrill went through him at her words, his demon humming with satisfaction. “Boyfriend,” Spike repeated, his tone deceptively light.

He saw the moment Buffy began overthinking the slipup, drawing her shoulders up and inwards, and Spike quickly added, “‘S neat. Never got to be one of those.”

Buffy gave him a dry look. “Oh, really. And Drusilla was, what, just along for the ride for the last century?”

“Yeah, actually.” Spike glanced away from her unblinking stare, his insides clenching. “Dru was my girl, but never my girlfriend. Not really.” He swallowed when Buffy stared at him. “Not the way it’s supposed to be.”

“But she was where it mattered,” Buffy said softly.

The look she was giving was too soft, too knowing. He shifted, clearing his throat. “The vamps at the hospital. Did they look like fledges?”

“How would I know?”

“How do you _not?_ ”

 “I didn’t exactly have time to ask them while fighting for my life.” Buffy rolled her eyes, affecting a perky and upbeat voice. “‘Hi guys, real quick: how long have you been undead?’”

“What help is your Watcher if you can’t spot age differences in the vampires you’re fighting?” Spike growled out.

He could tell she had more to say, fire sparking in her eyes, but instead she gave him a wry smile. “You know what would’ve helped?” Buffy looped her arms around his shoulders, wrists linking behind his neck and bringing them flush together. Spike tilted his head, and like a moth to a sodding flame his gaze lowered to her mouth. She smiled sweetly. “Sticking to the plan and _coming along_.”

“Bitch,” Spike smirked with amusement, leaning in—only to have Buffy wriggle free again. “Damn it, Slayer! What now?”

“That.” Buffy pointed at the plastic box of hospital blood. “No smoochies until we get some food in you. I didn’t risk getting arrested just to have it sit out on the grass all night.”

Spike groaned. “Slayer…”

“Nope.”

“ _Fine_.” Spike bent down and grabbed the damned box, hefting it under one arm. “But I’m not bloody well drinking it out here. Still have a reputation.”

Buffy rolled her eyes as she followed him to a crypt, one of the better ones in Restfield that still stood. Spike yanked the metal door and shoved himself inside, motioning her to follow. He ignored the way her nose wrinkled before climbing in after him.

“Pretty dark,” Buffy noted, glancing up uneasily at the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

“Big crypt like this must have some…yep. There.” He flicked on his lighter and held it to a candle sitting on a very long candlestick holder. A few more were shoved along the corners of the crypt, and Spike lit all of them until the crypt interior was bathed in yellow candlelight.

He turned back to face Buffy, and for a moment his unbeating heart gave a sharp lurch. Standing there with sunset flames flickering over her, watching him…“You’re beautiful,” said Spike quietly.

A little smile quirked over her lips and she met his eyes briefly before glancing away. “C’mon, weirdo. Let’s see if this stuff is any good.”

There was an out-of-body moment when Spike paused to take in exactly where he was: sat on a dusty crypt floor with the slayer, sifting through bagged hospital blood that she had stolen for him. The irony of it was almost too much, even for him. How did he get here? How much worse was he going to get?

The answer was currently tearing open a blood bag and holding it out to him. Buffy looked at him emphatically. “Go on, taste it.”

Sighing, Spike took the bag and held it to his lips. Sending one last dubious look to Buffy, Spike wrapped his lips around the plastic and swallowed a mouthful.

Buffy watched raptly as he pulled the bag away and licked his lips, eyeing the blood thoughtfully. “Well?”

“I don’t know.” He took another sip and made a face. “Tastes different.”

Buffy bit her lip. “That was expected right? It’s not like, you know…fresh from the source and all. It’ll be different.”

“No, it’s not that.” Spike shook his head. “Tastes…thin, somehow. Separated.”

“Ew.” Buffy grimaced.

“Just telling the truth, Slayer, don’t have a conniption.”

“I’m not connipting.” Buffy folded her arms against her middle. “It’ll do though, right? You can drink this instead of feeding?”

Spike stared at his slayer and then at the blood, which really, it was nothing like he was used to, and everything dull and boring, and that was…exactly why he needed to have it. “It’ll do, love,” he said softly.

Buffy smiled brightly and that ache in his chest returned. Setting the bag down, Spike turned to face her fully. “Let me kiss you.”

“But the bag of…” Buffy started.

“I don’t care.”

“You’re probably blood-flavored now.” Her voice dropped lower as he took her face in his hands and pressed their mouths together. He felt her sigh against him, soft lips pliant and yielding to his. Just this alone—lips moving, breathless and intoxicating and perfect—this alone he’d be hard-pressed to part from, out of everything else.

He moaned when she ran her tongue against his lips, pulling her closer. Wanted so much of her. Closer, closer, wanted her right up against him…

Spike reluctantly withdrew when Buffy gasped for breath. She was halfway in his lap now, arms around his neck and his hands fitted neatly at her waist, gliding up and drawing her tightly against his chest. “Been too bloody long,” Spike murmured against her skin, pressing lingering kisses up her neck.

“A few days,” Buffy nodded, tracing the back of his neck and around his ear. “With Mom back, and school, patrolling…”

“A factory full of buffoons,” Spike grumbled.

“Buffoons _you_ hired,” Buffy reminded.

Spike nipped her throat and Buffy shivered. His voice dropped sinfully low. “Miss snogging you in your room. Remember that?”

“Hard to forget,” Buffy smiled, pecking him on the lips before sighing. “We need an in-between place. Today was lucky; Giles didn’t come to patrol like he usually would.” She shook her head. “We can’t meet at my house and definitely not your house of horrors. And it’s daylight when I’m out of school…”

Spike glanced around the dimly lit room. “What about here?”

“Here? In this crypt?”

“Yeah. ‘S as good as any meeting spot.”

“It’s a crypt,” Buffy stated.

“You’re necking with a vampire, love, it’s not that far of a reach.”

Buffy glanced at the ceiling with a pout. “It’s so dusty.”

“I’ll sweep it.” He kissed her.

“There’s an actual tomb in here.”

“I’ll move it somewhere else.” Another kiss.

“It’s cold.” He kissed her hard, blunt fingers curling in her hair. She was smiling when their lips parted and Spike bundled her closer.

“I’ll find a way to warm you up. In fact…” Spike ticked up a scarred brow, smirking suggestively.

“Spike, don’t you dare.” At his growing smirk, Buffy squirmed in his arms and Spike only held on tighter. “It’s dusty and there’s legitimately a dead guy in that tomb there, Spike. Spike, a dusty skeleton, right next to us.”

“Mmm yeah, there is.” His hand slipped under her shirt and Buffy gasped as he kneaded her waist.

“Nuh-uh. Nope!”

Buffy pushed at his chest and scrambled out of his arms. “Oh no you don’t,” Spike’s lip curled up and he caught her wrist, yanking her back against him. A shriek of laughter echoed against the stone walls as Spike pressed Buffy against the floor, growling into her neck.

**-:-**

“…and then I sat there thinking, what was the point? Would the ache in my chest ever fade? Is there even meaning to my penance?”

Cordelia’s eyes had glazed over a half hour ago but Angel never noticed, too engrossed in his own thoughts. Her fingers slowly tapped atop the table, wondering if she could snag the beer that girl sitting at the next table hadn’t touched yet.

 “And staking my sire. Darla and I may not have been meant for each other but that was still an important connection I destroyed. Did anyone even think about that? Did anyone even thank me? Not that I expect thanks because that’s not what I’m doing this for, not at all—”

“We all know that’s not what you’re doing it for,” Cordelia snapped, and Angel froze mid-sentence. “I get it. Sad vampire tries making amends for being a murderer—it works for you. But for the love of god, you _have_ to get over this!”

Angel blinked several times, jaw opening and closing as he tried to figure out what to say, but Cordelia steamrollered on. “I mean, did you once ask me how my day was? A ‘Cordelia, how’s school? Is cheerleading going okay?’ Like, self-absorbed much?”

“Is cheerleading going okay?” Angel asked weakly.

“No,” Cordelia said with exaggerated slowness, “because our coach had his neck snapped during Parent-Teacher night.”

Angel swallowed thickly and glanced down at his hands resting on the table, saying nothing. Cordelia sighed as a twinge of regret went through her. Maybe tough love wasn’t the way to get through to him. “If you keep dwelling on what you’ve done, how will you ever grow up? Like I get that you did awful things and you want to…help and protect people, but you do realize that morality scales don’t work like that? A few good deeds is a drop in the bucket compared to the number of people you’ve hurt.”

“I know,” Angel muttered quietly, anger and frustration clear in his voice. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I don’t think you do,” said Cordelia bluntly. “I think you’re stuck feeling sorry for yourself. And because you’re still looking at this as a points system that weighs good and bad, you’re never gonna win. You’ll always be unhappy.”

Angel closed his eyes tightly and ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Then what do I do? _What_ can I possibly do? I can’t fix what I’ve done. You’re saying that doing good won’t fix what I’ve done. What else is there? What’s the point in all of this?” Angel’s voice edged on desperation.

Cordelia inhaled slowly, staring at Angel with a critical look in her gaze. “Look. I’m not a therapist. I can’t help you solve these questions, but if you want my opinion, you’re looking at this entirely at the wrong angle.”

“What?”

“It has nothing to do with how to _fix_ it. You’ll never fix it.” Angel flinched, hunching over the table even more as if trying to let the ground swallow him whole. “You’ll never atone for it. There’s isn’t enough atonement in the world to fix what I’m sure you’ve done over the last two hundred years.”

“Yeah. I get it.” Angel’s voice was morose.

“I don’t think you do. Like, who is it you’re atoning to? Who are you asking for forgiveness by trying to do all these good deeds to save people?”

Angel braved meeting Cordelia’s eyes again and found, surprisingly, no judgment in her eyes. Angel looked away, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

“Is it God?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“Is it yourself?”

“No.”

“Then who? Who are you trying to please here?”

“Maybe…the Powers. But…” Angel’s face pinched up, thinking hard. “It’s not even just that.”

“Then who?” Cordelia asked. She could tell he was keeping something from her and it made her impatient. “Until you figure that out, you’re never getting out of this funk. You keep—god, I’m not even sure how to say this.”

“Say it,” said Angel quietly. “Go on.”

Cordelia stared at him for a moment. “The whole narrative is wrong, Angel. You’re only trying to be good because you expect something out of it. That’s just not how forgiveness works.”

“Didn’t we establish there’s nobody actually out there who I’m looking to for forgiveness?” Angel mumbled bitterly. “And no. I don’t expect anything. How could I? What could I possibly want? I don’t deserve anything.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Acceptance. Redemption. Validation.” Angel’s eyes flew to Cordelia’s, who was checking her nails again and frowning. When she noticed his stare, Cordelia hiked a penciled brow. “What? Did you think I lived under a rock? I do take Honors Lit, you know. You’re a classic case scenario of the hero’s journey, but with fangs.”

Angel took an unnecessary breath, shaking his head slowly. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“No, I don’t.” A pensive look crossed Cordelia’s face for half a second before it went away. She cleared her throat loudly, leaning against the table. “And after tonight, not super sure I want to. I just sat here with you for an entire evening on a Saturday night. My friends left two hours ago, Angel. This is a whole new level of terrible for me.”

Angel glanced at where her three friends had been and saw she was right. In fact, most of the Bronze was now in a lull as the night had wore on. “Sorry,” he murmured.

She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you sorry?”

Angel shifted awkwardly in his seat. “You know. For taking your night away from your friends.”

Cordelia nodded slowly. “Are you expecting forgiveness by being sorry?”

Angel narrowed his eyes. “No…”

“Will you take my night away again like this?”

He finally got the gist of where she was going with this and rolled his eyes. “Cordelia…”

“Answer me.”

“No,” Angel said with a resigned tone. “I’ll…I’ll make a point not to ruin your night in the future.” At her expected look, he added, “And I don’t expect forgiveness.”

Cordelia cracked a smile. “And you’re still doing it anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“Without expectations.”

“Yeah.”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Angel sighed. “Yes.”

 “He can learn after all,” Cordelia smiled smugly before draining the rest of the diet soda Angel had bought for her. “Well, I’d say this night has been a bust on the social end so I’m going to call it.” She slid from the stool and adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder.

She expected Angel to say something, to at least walk her out, but he was too far gone in his own thoughts and probably his own simmering guilt—on what, at this point, Cordelia couldn’t be sure of—and Cordelia sighed. “I meant what I said. Maybe look into talking to someone. Or at the very least, some TLC. Oh!” Cordelia slipped her purse to her elbow and dug through it fervently. “Where…is…here!”

Angel stared in disbelief when Cordelia thrust her hand out and held a slightly misshapen paper clipping under his nose.

“Uh…”

“It’s a coupon, dummy. Take it.” She waved it at him. Angel took the coupon with a dubious look. “It’s for a free day at the Sunny Spa. I was going to use it myself but honestly at this point? I think you need it more than I do.” She looked him up and down in that perturbing way that made him want to squirm in his seat. “You could do with some relaxing.”

He stared at the red and blue ink sprawled on the coupon and looked up at Cordelia. “Right. Thanks, I guess?”

“Whatever. Don’t follow me home.” Hefting her purse, Cordelia strode out of the Bronze and into the cool California night.

Angel stared at the coupon again with growing disbelief. Cordelia Chase really was something else.

Tucking the scrap in his back pocket, Angel dropped some cash on the table and left the club.

**-:-**

Spike only had to take one look at her to know something was wrong. He straightened from the tree he was leaning against and flicked his cigarette away. “What’s wrong?”

Buffy shook her head and swallowed against the lump in her throat, ignoring his question in favor of going straight to his chest and burying her face against it. Spike’s arms rose up to wrap around her and Buffy held onto him tightly, breathing him in. He held her for a long moment before gently pulling her away to look at her.

“What is it, Slayer? Something nasty take a bite out of you?” Spike’s eyes shone with concern as he peered down at her.

“Something like that.” Buffy shook her head. “Can we go inside our crypt?”

She didn’t notice the inexplicable look he got when she called the crypt theirs, just followed him as he led her inside with his hand cool and reassuring around hers. The inside was already well lit and a rug had appeared since yesterday, pushed against the wall so that they had something to lean against as they sat down.  

Buffy glanced around, noticing how the crypt looked significantly less dusty and cobwebby than it did last night. The stone coffin was pushed to the far wall with its concrete lid slightly off kilter. “You’re fixing it up,” Buffy said, dazed surprise in her voice.

“Well, yeah. Promised you I would, didn’t I?” Spike smiled at her.

Buffy smiled back before groaning. “Ugh, Spike. Today was terrible.”

“Was startin’ to think that, yeah.”

“It was Evil Body Snatching levels of terrible. This demon was making zombies and Giles used to be a Ripper and stupid Ethan Rayne paralyzed me and now I have this stupid tattoo on the back of my neck and I’m _so_ getting it removed.”

Spike blinked, confusion clear in his voice. “Gonna have to run that by me again, love.”

Sighing exaggeratedly, Buffy shrugged out of her denim jacket and twisted around to show him her back. She lifted up her hair and waited.

“Bloody hell!”

Buffy dropped her hair but Spike lifted it right back up, and she felt cool breath on the back of her neck. It made her shiver.

“Some bloke paralyzed you to do this? How?”

“Well, not so much paralyze as knocked me unconscious and then tied me up facedown to a table,” Buffy admitted. A shiver went through her at Spike’s murderous look.

“I’m killing him.”

“Spike—”

“I don’t care. Sod our agreement; I’m killing him.” He started to get up but Buffy grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

“Spike, he’s already skipped town. And it’s no big at this point, honestly. I’m just all bad moody,” Buffy tried to calm him down but her words only agitated him further.

“Are you mental? The human embodiment of rat piss incapacitated a Slayer and put her in the most vulnerable—” Spike shook his head, eyes flickering over her rapidly. “Say he didn’t draw the sodding tattoo, wanted to do something else to you. Something bad men do to young girls—what then?”

“I think you’re missing the huge part where I broke free and kicked major ass,” Buffy replied, slightly annoyed.

“Not until he took his sweet time marking you.” Spike’s lips curled angrily, resolve written on his face. “No, I am killing him.”

Buffy didn’t know what to say to that. It was what had been chipping away at the back of her mind all evening, despite her reassurances to Xander and Willow. If it had been anyone else, any other scenario…

 Spike watched intently as Buffy visibly curled in on herself with the weight of reality. She lifted her gaze to meet his as her lower lip wobbled.

“Oh, love. C’mere.” Spike wrapped his arms tightly around Buffy as she buried her face in his throat, clinging onto him tightly.

“This sucks,” Buffy muffled against his shirt.

“That it does, love.” Spike pressed a kiss against her hair.

“And on top of it all, Angel showed up. All with the eyes and the helping and god, I _so_ did not need to see him. He’s like, like a pimple on my memories of last year. I don’t need to think about last year.”

“Angel was here?” Spike said sharply, his body going stiff.

“Yeah? You know him?”

“Know him? _You_ know him?” Spike said incredulously.

“Yeah…? He was here last year, helping us during the whole Master takedown.” Buffy shivered hard. “Really, really don’t want to think about last year.”

“Bloody perfect. Of course the ponce got here first.” Spike muttered angrily under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Can’t leave well be. Can’t ever let me have one sodding thing for myself.”

Buffy lifted her head from his chest to give him an odd look. “Again with the ‘huh?’”

Spike rolled his eyes. “He’s family. Part of the line that made me a vampire.”

“Oh.” Buffy was silent for a moment. “He’s kind of weird.”

Spike tilted his head back to look down at Buffy, eyes piercing through hers. He must have seen something he liked, because in the next moment he barked out a laugh.

“Oh he’s more than weird, love. Being around Angel is like trying to wade through unsalted soup.”

Buffy snorted, laying her head back against Spike’s chest. He stroked her back idly as her thoughts flitted around the Eyghon incident. She huffed out a sigh.

“The tattoo is so ugly. I’ll have to blow my whole allowance just to get it removed.”

 “Let me see it again, love?”

Buffy shifted in his arms until her back faced his chest. Spike moved her hair back and traced his fingers lightly along her skin, carefully avoiding the tattooed area. “Oh, pet. I’m sorry some middle-aged pillock did this.”

“Thanks,” Buffy mumbled, drawing her knees up. “It doesn’t feel so good. The tattoo, I mean.”

“Yeah, it’s all inflamed. More’n it should probably. I doubt he professionally learned how to do tats.”

“Great. _Great_.” Buffy laid her head on her knees. “It hurts and it’s itchy and this sucks.”

Spike made a soft noise and planted a kiss on her back. “’M sorry, baby. I’ll kill the bastard with my bare hands.” He gently kissed the back of her neck where the tattoo was. The cool sensation of Spike’s lips made her sigh quietly. “I’ll chop him into messes and bring them to your feet.”

Buffy felt she should feel grossed out, or at the very least disapproving, but Spike’s soft promises of violence in her honor was an unexpected balm to Buffy’s bruised feelings. She’d remind him, later, that killing was off the table.

Right now she wanted more of his words and his arms and his drug-inducing kisses against her skin.

Buffy leaned comfortably back against Spike’s chest until they were nestled together, his arms wound tightly around her belly. She drew patterns on his forearms with her fingertips, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“What else will you do?”

Spike’s chest grumbled against her back. “I’d make ropes of his entrails and make him watch. I’d make him bleed a river of red sunset…”


	6. Uncertainty

**Chapter 6:**  Uncertainty

AKA: The Other Buffy

**-:-**

Buffy stared blankly at the questionnaire before her.

“Do I like shrubs?”

“That’s between you and your god,” Xander replied.

Chewing her lip, Buffy turned to Willow. “What’d you put?”

“I came down on the side of shrubs,” said Willow sagely.

“Go with shrubs! Okay!” Buffy filled in the bubble. Groaning, Buffy dropped her pencil and put her head against her palm. “I shouldn't even be bothering with this. It's all mootville for me. No matter what my aptitude test says, we already know my deal.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Willow frowned. “I mean, that can’t be how all Slayers lived, right?” She glanced between Xander and Buffy. “They had to have went schools a-and had jobs.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘lived’.” Buffy stared down at the row of questions and pushed down the unease in her stomach. “I’ll be lucky if I get to senior prom.”

Xander pointed his pencil at Buffy. “Y'know, with that kind of attitude you could have a bright future as an employee at the DMV.” At Buffy’s nonplussed look Xander sighed, leaning against the table. “Look, Buff. If you’re going to die anyway, why are you bothering with high school?”

“Because it’s high school,” said Buffy, shrugging. “I kinda have to go to school, Xander.”

“Right, so why not after too? So there’s a hellmouth-shaped thorn lodged in your side. Just do what you can.” Xander flashed her a bright smile, lightly shrugging a shoulder.

Her heart warmed at his words and Buffy glanced down at the questionnaire again. “I know. It’s just…unless Hell freezes over and every vamp in Sunnydale puts in for early retirement, I'd say my future is pretty much a non-issue. It’s hard to get excited about these things,” Buffy gestured at the papers spread about the table, “when I know there’s no point.”

“Someone sounds cheerful.” Cordelia strolled up behind them and Buffy twisted around in her chair. “You don’t have to be literal when you answer these, you know. I just wrote, ‘I aspire to help my fellow man’. So long as they’re not smelly, dirty, or something gross.”

“Cordelia Chase, always ready to give a helping hand to the rich and pretty,” Xander said dryly.

Cordelia wrinkled her nose. “Which, lucky me, excludes you. Twice.”

“And also the bringer of commentary nobody asked for! Aren’t we winners.”

Cordelia ignored him and turned to Buffy. “Ahem?”

Buffy’s eyes widened a fraction. “Now?”

“Would I stand here for any other reason?”

As Buffy reluctantly stood, Xander and Willow gaped at them. “Okay, did the universe tilt on its axis or am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Xander said as he turned to Willow for backup.

Buffy never heard Willow’s response; Cordelia grabbed Buffy by the arm and pulled her unceremoniously towards the courtyard.

“We’ve really gotta stop meeting like this,” said Buffy wryly as they slowed to a stop.

Cordelia brushed her bangs aside sighed. “Stop trying to be cute, it doesn’t work on you.”

“Words that could only come from a friend. Wait.” Buffy paused. “Are we friends?”

“Are you going to ask me questions all day or will you shut up long enough for me to tell you what happened this weekend?”

Buffy’s interest piqued. “What happened?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Buffy was reminded then why talking to Cordelia was like nails on chalkboard. “Seriously?”

Cordelia’s eyes narrowed. “You know, in civil societies it’s considered rude to blow off an invitation to the club. Like what you did to me this weekend. Remember? You, me, the Bronze? You better have a good reason.”

Buffy hid a wince. “I’m guessing you didn’t get the memo. Things got pretty dicey this weekend. Hello impromptu tattoo-age.”

After showing said tattoo (now scheduled to be removed on Tuesday, with Joyce’s lasting disapproval) and briefing Cordelia on the Eyghon zombie monster fest, Cordelia looked angrier than Buffy had prepared for. “God, this is just so typical! Nobody ever tells me anything!”

“Sorry?” Buffy said unsurely.

“Whatever.” Cordelia flipped her hair with agitation. “I guess that’s a good enough reason. But while you were tracking demons I ran into Angel at the Bronze.”

“Angel?” Buffy repeated. “He was at the Bronze?”

“Not only was he there, but he sat with me and talked for five hours. That guy has a ton of baggage,” Cordelia wrinkled her nose. “ _And_  he’s still a vampire. Can you believe that?”

“…Yeah, that’s kind of how it works. Wow,” Buffy said slowly. “Five hours?”

“Trust me, I was checking my watch.”

Buffy wasn’t sure how to process this information. “Why are you telling me this?”

Cordelia’s expression turned a little embarrassed. “Do I need a reason?”

Buffy stared at Cordelia for a long moment before her jaw dropped. She pointed at her. “Oh my god. We’re having girl talk!” Cordelia glared. Buffy smiled wide. “I sense a bonding moment coming.”

“Well who else am I supposed to talk to about having a conversation with an undead guy for hours?” Cordelia snapped. “And besides, I thought last year you two were dating or something.”

Buffy couldn’t help it—she outright laughed. “Me? And Angel?” A tittering laugh escaped her. At Cordelia’s bewildered look, Buffy sobered and cleared her throat. “No, we never dated. Not even close. He gave me his jacket once?” Buffy shrugged. “But nothing of the datey variety.”

“Oh.” A beat passed. “I’m not so sure about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” said Cordelia honestly. “He’s living with a lot in his head and I honestly don’t know why he told me all that stuff.”

“Yep, sounds like Angel.”

“I think he’s still into you.”

Buffy balked. “What?”

Cordelia gave Buffy a dry look. “Oh, come on. I was there last year. Mystery guy haunting the Bronze? Always around you?”

Spike’s words came to her unbidden, the frustration and doubt that had overcome him when Buffy had idly mentioned Angel. “That…no. I mean maybe there was a moment, last year, when the whole—but that was nothing. Half a second of nothing, and then afterwards it was nonexistent,” Buffy insisted, her voice desperate.

“Relax, I’m not saying his feelings are reciprocated.” Cordelia gave her a funny look. “But after talking to him, I got the sense there was a candle he was still holding for you.”

“Candle? What Candle? You should’ve blown out that candle the second you saw it!” Buffy exclaimed.

“I’m not saying it’s true,” Cordelia stressed as Buffy’s face turned panicked. “I just thought I’d give you a heads up in case you ran into him.”

Buffy struggled to come up with something coherent to say. “Thank you for telling me, Cordy.” She chewed on her lower lip. “You don’t think he’ll trying talking to me about this, do you?”

She shrugged. “Honestly? Probably not. He didn’t actually talk about you; it was mostly other stuff like his soul, his worries. It was…” Cordelia trailed, her gaze turning pensive. “Different.”

Buffy nodded slowly. “So long as he doesn’t turn up at my front door, I think we should be okay.”

**-:-**

Buffy stood frozen, one leg suspended over the window sill and stepping down on the carpeted floor, and the other on a foothold below the window.

Angel was in her bedroom, holding Mr. Gordo.

Wordlessly, Buffy climbed the rest of the way through and tossed her backpack on the floor. Loudly.

Angel spun around, startled. “Buffy! You scared me.”

“Uh huh. What’re you doing here?” Buffy reached into her hair and pulled out her hairpins, moving towards her dresser. She glanced sideways at him. “Just dropping by for some quality time with Mr. Gordo?”

Angel frowned. “Excuse me?”

“The pig.”

“Oh. I uh…” With an almost embarrassed shake of his head he tossed Mr. Gordo on her chair. His tone was quiet, almost whispering, clearly in an effort to not alert her mother that he was here. She didn’t bother telling him that Joyce was on a buying trip until Thursday and there was no need. The less he knew the better.

“What’s up?” Buffy turned to lean against the dresser, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Nothing.” Angel then winced a little even as he said it.

Buffy fought to keep from rolling her eyes. She strained a smile. “Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Angel took a breath and tucked his hands in his pockets. “I got a lead a few days back, movement in the demon community in Sunnydale.”

“What about it?”

“Just that…things have been quiet. On the vampire front, at least. It’s keeping the rest of the demons on their guard. There’s a rumor that a powerful line has moved into town. I don’t know who, though.”

Buffy didn’t need to guess which powerful line he was referring to, but she never thought their arrival held gossip amongst the demon community in Sunnydale.

“And?”

Angel’s mouth parted, surprise written on his face. “And…I just thought I’d let you know.”

Buffy glanced around her bedroom, answering slowly, “And this was the best way.”

Angel looked down, his shoulders rising up a bit. “You’re not happy to see me.”

Buffy clenched her teeth for a moment before letting out a sigh. “I’m not unhappy to see you. I’m—I’m nothing to see you.” Angel hunched over even more, no longer meeting her eyes. This time Buffy didn’t hold back an eye roll. “You just show up in my house, in my room, completely unannounced, with a lead that you could’ve passed on over the phone. What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Angel replied quietly. He shuffled a little where he stood. He added in a small voice, “You used to like when I did that.”

Buffy’s mind reeled back, and she shook her head at Angel with incredulity. “I also hadn’t drowned then, Angel. Things have changed.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that.” She didn’t miss the edge of bitterness in his tone. “Is this—is this still about the Master? That prophecy? Ever since you killed him you’ve—we’ve—” Angel stared at her helplessly. “Did doing one thing change so much?”

Buffy balled her hands into fists. She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

Angel closed his eyes, and let out a quiet sigh. “I should go.”

Buffy pressed her lips together in a grim line. She had to say this now and end this, whatever this thing still was for him. “I get it. There was potential for something more between us. But whatever that was, whatever that might’ve been—it’s gone, Angel. I…I appreciate the help you’ve given and are still giving, and I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. It just won’t be me.”

Angel glanced away. “Right.”

“I have to ask you not to come into my home like this again.”

He nodded, turning to head towards the window. “Understood.” Just before he reached the window sill, Angel turned to look at Buffy one final time. “I…nevermind.”

Angel chuckled softly and shook his head. It was a charming laugh with a charming grin, and the look he gave her made a memory rise unprompted, like a familiar face through fogged glass. Something like this would’ve piqued her curiosity last year. It was bait and a fish line all in one, but now it only served to make her vividly aware of what he was doing.

The words came out before Buffy could stop them. “I’m seeing someone.”

Angel froze.

“You are?”

Buffy nodded. “Yep. I have a boyfriend. He’s fun, and I’m happy with him. He makes me happy. So yeah. It was nice seeing you, Angel.”

He didn’t pause this time when he went to climb down her window. “You too, Buffy. I’ll see you around.”

“No,” said Buffy, “I don’t think we will.”

Angel left. Buffy waited a few beats before crossing her room and jamming the window shut, turning the notch on the top to lock it.

Cordelia had been so wrong. ‘Probably won’t come to see you’ her  _ass_.

She needed to see Giles and ask for a disinvite spell. There was no way she was putting herself or her mother at risk if Angel decided to pop by again—or worse, come during the night to watch her sleep. Buffy shivered hard.

Right. Disinvite spell tomorrow.

She needed to get out of her room. Her mind was in hyperdrive and her body itched for movement, for running somewhere, for—

For a distraction.

Mind made up, Buffy pulled her hair up in a high knot and left the house.

**-:-**

Spike was holding a paper bag in one arm and a bottle in the other, cigarette still dangling from his lips as he stared at his girlfriend’s shapely bum bent over on the floor.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the view,” Spike began, smirking when Buffy startled and whipped her head around, “but I thought we were meeting at yours tonight? Mum’s away for the week?”

“No, we are.” Buffy stood up quickly and brushed off her clothes, setting down the brush and dustpan on a sarcophagus. “I just wanted to clean up some more. You know, get this place set up for us.”

“’S very helpful of you, pet,” Spike smiled as he set the bag and bottle of wine next to the dustpan.

“I can totally be helpful. I’m helper girl. Helper girl on a help-a-thon.” She smiled and tilted her head back as Spike stepped in close. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, pet. It’s been, what, twenty hours?”

“Too long.”

Spike grinned before capturing her lips in a kiss. Buffy sighed softly against his mouth and just about melted against him, and Spike wondered when, if ever, he would get used to that.

He started to pull away but Buffy’s arms banded around him tightly, pulling herself up on her tiptoes and kissing him deeply, prying his mouth open. It surprised him but only for a moment, and he gripped the back of her neck to kiss her hard as desire stirred in him.

When they finally broke apart Spike ran his hands down her arms, squeezing. He curled his tongue against his teeth. “Kitten’s got her claws out today, I see.”

“Mhm. Sharp, too.” Buffy helpfully demonstrated by digging her nails against his shoulders, making him stifle a groan.

“Best we wrap this up here, then.” Spike pressed another kiss against her lips then stepped back, grabbing the paper bag and bottle from the sarcophagus.

“I saw you put in a mini fridge,” Buffy noted as he walked straight to it. “How did you rig an outlet here so fast?”

“You’d be surprised the things they put on the World Wide Web,” Spike replied as he pulled the fridge door open. “This whole bloody town’s electrical and sewer systems criss-cross through the major cemeteries. Won’t be too difficult to set up the crypt like any other home.”

Buffy watched him for a few moments. “Hey, that’s real people food.”

“So it is.”

“It—for me?”

“Yeah, pet, it for you.” Spike chuckled and ducked a little when Buffy’s mouth scrunched up in a wavering pout and she held up the dusty brush, threatening to toss it at his head. She never did, though. She set the brush back down and gazed at him with a gentle look.

“You didn’t have to,” Buffy said softly. “You’re already doing so much. I should get snacks myself.”

“And you can,” Spike agreed. “Won’t stop me from doing this regardless.”

“You’re a butt.”

“You like it.”

“Yeah…” A glazed look came over Buffy as her eyes dipped down to stare at said ass. She shook her head. “But still. You really don’t have to worry about the food thing.”

“I don’t mind, pet. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to,” Spike replied, and gave her an odd look. “Does it bother you?”

“No.” He heard the unspoken  _‘but’_  in her tone, but didn’t press further. He’d let her suss that one out herself.

“I’d say another few weeks and we’ll have ourselves a good setup here,” Spike said as he closed the mini fridge door and folded up the bag.  

Buffy perked up at that. “Good. Because I definitely want this place set up ASAP. The sooner we have our own space with total and complete privacy, the better.”

Spike lifted his eyes from the bag, noticing the tension in Buffy’s posture for the first time. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Buffy gave a decisive nod. “I just…really want something for just the two of us. Nothing else—no other people or school things.”

“And you’ll get it, love.” He set the bag down on top of the mini fridge and moved to sidle in next to her, the two of them leaning against the sarcophagus. “You plannin’ on telling me what’s eating at you today, then?”

Buffy started, her eyes going wide. “You think something’s eating at me?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Gee, I didn’t realize my boyfriend was actually Sherlock Holmes,” Buffy retorted.

Spike stared at her, scarred eyebrow rising.

Buffy winced. “God, I’m sorry. I’ve been Cranky Miss all day.”

“’S alright.”

“No, it’s not. You’re nothing but nice to me, and I…” Buffy sighed and briefly closed her eyes, then glanced down at her shoes. “How do you know Angel?”

Of all the things he’d expected Buffy to say, none of them were that.

“Sorry?”

“Angel,” Buffy repeated. “You wigged last night when I mentioned him. How do you know him?”

Spike snorted, shaking his head. “Bloody wish I didn’t know him.” At Buffy’s expectant look, Spike reluctantly continued. “He’s part of the family line, yeah? Dru turned me, Angel turned Dru. And I believe you’ve met Darla before, yeah?”

Buffy nodded. “She was here working with the Master. And the Master had turned her,” she recalled.

“Yeah, so she was Angel’s sire. You’ve met the whole family.”

“I take it you don’t like him.”

“No I bloody don’t.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “What, do you now? Is that it? Sudden change of heart?”

“A world of no,” Buffy rolled her eyes. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. The small act of familiarity warmed his dead heart. “He turned up at my house today.”

“He  _what?_ ”

“Relax. I told him to go.”

“Who the hell does he—”

Buffy lifted her head from Spike’s shoulder. “Hey, angry guy? Remember the time we talked about letting me finish my thought before jumping to angry conclusions?”

Spike willed himself to calm down and stared mutinously, blue piercing hazel irises. His mind steadied a bit when he saw the unfettered honesty reflecting back at him. “Right. Go on.”

Buffy took in a slow a breath. “I haven’t seen him since the night I killed the Master. I didn’t want to see him, he’s like—like a symbol of everything about last year that was weird and confusing and the lies I’d been told. And he just shows up in my room and god, I was furious.” Spike watched as Buffy’s eyes flared with anger. “But only for a moment. And in the next moment, just as he was leaving…I saw something in him.”

If Spike’s heart could still beat it would be pounding frantically against his ribs. For the unlife of him he couldn’t figure out where she was going with this. A fine web of fear slipped inside Spike as his mind went to the worst—that she’d seen something desirable in the wanker and was leaving him.

“It was like I wasn’t even me for a moment. No, that’s not right.” Buffy squeezed her eyes shut as she searched for the right words. “I was me, but outside my body and watching. And for a minute there I could see what my life could’ve been like if you and I hadn’t met when we did. If Angel had come back earlier, came by to see me more. How it could have been if I was with him instead.”

Buffy opened her eyes and gazed up at Spike. He trembled at the adoration reflected back in her eyes. “And I’m really, really glad you’re the one in my life.”

Spike couldn’t speak. Buffy had robbed the words straight from his throat and he was left staring at her.

“Hearing it out loud I realize it sounds wiggy. Sorry,” Buffy said quickly. She glanced down at her hands as her fingers twisted together. “I just, I saw the girl I could’ve been if I was with Angel and I couldn’t—that wasn’t me. But when I’m with you? One hundred percent Buffy.” She smiles at him. “You’re…right for me. Does that make sense?”

When Spike didn’t reply again, Buffy asked in a smaller, timid voice, “Is that okay?”

Pure elation coursed through Spike and without a word he wrapped his hand around her neck and dragged her into a passionate kiss, memorizing every inch of her with his lips and teeth and tongue until she was gasping for breath. He kissed her again, then again, sweeping his tongue in her mouth and swallowing her breathless moans.

She picked him. Bloody well looked between the two and he came in first.

For the first time in his entire existence on earth, someone deliberately picked Spike.

And over sodding  _Angel_.

Spike leaned back, panting as he pressed his forehead against hers. “More than okay, pet. It’s bloody brilliant.”

Buffy’s smile lit up his insides and Spike grabbed her hands, pulling them away from the sarcophagus. “C’mon, Slayer. I believe there’s a girly bedroom waitin’ for us at your house.”

“There is, isn’t there,” Buffy smiled sweetly at Spike. “Ooh, you should take a blood bag with you from the mini fridge. We can heat it up in the microwave.”

“Woman after my own heart.”

Buffy’s grin widened as he went over to grab a blood bag. “By the way, do we want to keep the sarcophagus here? I know you cleared out the inside but maybe we could push it across the room?”

“Yeah, about that.” Spike strode back around to her and said, “I meant to show you last night but never got around to it. Help me lift a bit?”

Buffy nodded and went to one side of the sarcophagus as Spike went to the other. Together they pushed one end of the tomb and moved it over just over a foot. Spike ushered her over. “See what I found.”

Frowning a little suspiciously, Buffy moved around to where Spike stood. Looking down, Buffy’s lips parted in surprise at the hidden entrance on the floor. “Found it yesterday.” Spike tucked his thumbs in his jeans, leaning back on his heels with a grin. “This crypt’s got a lower level.”

“Whoa,” Buffy breathed, peering down into the vast expanse of darkness beneath them. “Did you go down there yet?”

“I did a bit, yeah.” Spike moved behind Buffy, wrapping his arms around her middle and gently pulling her flush against his chest. Her body molded deliriously well against his and Spike rested his head against the side of hers. “Plenty o’ room down there. I’ll need to cut through some places, get a jackhammer. There’s an exposed pipe in one corridor where we can rig a shower.”

“Oooh, I do like showers,” said Buffy, tilting her head a bit to smile at him. “You really think we can do this?”

“Course we can. Even more…” Spike leaned in closer, lips brushing the outer shell of her ear. His arms tightened around Buffy when he felt her shiver. “We can set up a bedroom down there. Full privacy. You an’ me…” He couldn’t help but push his hips against the swell of her ass, relishing the quiet gasp the left her lips. “A place of our own.”

“Mmm,” Buffy hummed, dropping her head back and grinding against Spike. He didn’t need to touch her to know how wet she was getting for him. “Sounds perfect.” She paused, peering at him slyly. “Race you home.”

Spike stumbled back with a huff of surprise as Buffy shot out of his arms and out of the crypt. Growling, he grabbed a bag of blood and bolted after her.


End file.
